


All These Years, All These Fears

by AeroplanesR0ck



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But he's also a plot device so at least he's useful, Consensual Infidelity, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Forced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Open Relationships, Past Relationship(s), Prompt Fill, Relationship Negotiation, Reunions, sort of, three hundred words in and Sherlock is already being an annoyance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-05-22 15:38:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 66
Words: 38,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6085272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeroplanesR0ck/pseuds/AeroplanesR0ck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade and John Watson met years before they saw each other again at Baker Street. There were obvious reasons why it didn't work out then, but perhaps that doesn't mean they cannot have another go at it.</p>
<p>Fill for  <a href="https://sherlockbbc-fic.dreamwidth.org/75973.html?thread=260251845#cmt260251845"> this </a>  prompt on Dreamwidth</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Hate to Turn Up Out of the Blue Uninvited...

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfic work! Constructive criticism very very welcome.

When Lestrade jogged up the steps to Sherlock’s new flat on Baker Street (much nicer than the last one, if you ask him, although who knows how long it’ll stay that way with Sherlock living there), he hadn’t expected much more than Sherlock’s usual ‘I’m going to pretend I’m not desperate for a case so I can watch you beg’ game. That is what he got, at least for the first minute or so, until Sherlock said “I need an assistant”, and glanced over at the other man in the room, whom Lestrade hadn’t yet even noticed, he was standing so still and silent. Although Lestrade honestly, really should have noticed him, because the man was openly gaping at him.

John Watson had actually thought that seeing a human skull just sitting casually on the mantelpiece would be the most surreal experience he’d had that day. He was horribly, grossly, incredibly wrong. Greg somehow looked both exactly the same, and very different. His close-cropped hair- still the same cheap, efficient haircut- was streaked through with silver. His familiar warm brown eyes held a sort of exhaustion that ran far deeper than just a few sleepless nights. John snapped out of his reverie when he realised that his staring had been noticed. Stepping forward, he cleared his throat awkwardly, wondering how to address the man. Professionally would be best, given the circumstances.

“Sergeant Lestrade. You’re looking well.” A lie, but the sort of polite lie that no one ever bothers to call out.

Lestrade blinked. The man was familiar, but he just couldn’t place him. He hadn’t seen him since his promotion, but that hardly narrowed it down, seeing as that was only a few years ago.

“It’s, uh, Inspector now, actually.” He said, for want of anything better to say.

Sherlock jumped in before John could reply. “You know each other! Or rather you know him, John, but he doesn’t recognise you. Oh, this is very interesting, let me see…”

“Shut up, Sherlock.” Greg and John said, almost in unison. John smiled tentatively at Greg. Greg still looked confused. Sherlock looked put out.

Greg stepped forward. “I’m sorry, he’s right, though. You look very familiar, but I’m afraid I can’t quite place you.”

John didn’t much feel like rehashing their complicated history, or even hinting at it, in front of Sherlock. No doubt the man would have it all sussed out soon enough, but until then, John preferred to keep it to himself for the moment. He smiled tightly at Greg.

“Perhaps another time. You have murders to attend to, I gather?” He inclined his head towards Sherlock.

Greg nodded, gathering himself mentally. There was something about the man that made him feel just slightly off kilter, but not in a bad way. He turned to Sherlock.

“You’ll come, yes?”

Sherlock nodded, still looking between him and the man like they were a particularly mysterious double murder. “I’ll follow along in a cab.” He agreed.

“Thank you.” With a nod and a wave, Greg turned and left.


	2. (Oh Na Na) What's My Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg figures it out.

Once Greg was gone, Sherlock advanced upon John, intent on questioning him. John, realising this, headed him off.

“Better go solve your murder. Greg’s expecting you.” 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Greg, hmm? So you do know him quite well, but you also know him in a professional capacity. You’re no policeman, so you’ve not worked with him, but Lestrade tends to stay professional with the people he meets, so you must have been in contact with him for an extended period of time… An intern perhaps? But there’s more there, you-” His eyes raked over John. “You had sex!” He cried, looking both triumphant and mildly horrified. 

John rubbed a hand over his face.. “Yes, well done, Sherlock, now why don’t you go solve a murder, instead of my personal life. Much more useful.”

“You should come with me.” Sherlock suggested. “I was going to suggest it anyway. You’re a doctor, you can help me with the corpse. And I get into a great deal of trouble, I could definitely use an army man with a illegal firearm.”

John frowned. “Wait, how did you know about the-”

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand. “Of course you have an illegal firearm. No time to get it now, of course, but you really should come.” He gave John a sly look. “Lestrade will be there. His wife is cheating on him, they’ll probably get a divorce soon.” 

John sighed. Sherlock was obviously tenacious, there was no way he’d just give up on this. “Alright, alright. I’ll come, on one condition. Stop asking me about Greg. You can try to figure it out yourself, or something, but I don’t want to talk about it tonight. Alright?”

Sherlock scowled and nodded. He could probably convince John further, but they were wasting precious time, and Anderson was probably tramping all over his crime scene that very second. Turning, he swung on his coat and jogged down the steps.

“Come on, then.” He called.

John grabbed his jacket and followed with a small smile.

*****

Sally’s voice crackled over Lestrade’s radio. “Freak’s here, bringing him in.” Anderson immediately got up, presumably to go find Sherlock and start another pointless argument. Lestrade sighed, he didn’t know why the man bothered. He followed after, to find Sally and Anderson looking angry and Sherlock looking smug. As usual. Only now there was the addition of the other man, the one who’d been in Sherlock’s flat. And was apparently now tagging along to crime scenes. Lestrade knew he ought to protest, he really shouldn’t be allowing just any old civilian onto a crime scene, but if he was honest with himself, he knew Sherlock would have his way anyway. Plus, he was rather curious about the man. Shaking his head, he waved the two upstairs.

Lestrade gestured at the crime scene, looking up at Sherlock. “Five minutes.” Normally he wouldn’t even give Sherlock that long, but he was hoping for the chance to talk to the familiar stranger from the flat. Sherlock had obviously deduced this, given the smirk he shot at Lestrade before crouching by the body, all his focus now trained on the crime scene. 

John hung by the wall, watching Sherlock work. He felt Greg sidle up to him, watched him in the periphery of his vision.

“Uh, I didn’t get your name earlier?” Greg said awkwardly. 

John turned to face him. “John. John Watson.”

Greg’s mouth dropped open, memories flooding him. 

_John’s legs wrapped around his waist, his moist breath against Greg’s ear. “Try to look less constipated and more like you’re enjoying yourself.” John’s mouth on his, John’s too-loud-to-be-real moans._

“Doctor Watson.” Sherlock called, not looking up from the body.

John shot Greg an apologetic smile, and crouched down next to Sherlock, Greg still gaping at the back of his head.


	3. I See You (Running) 'Round Town With the (Boy) I Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg is jealous. And also wrong.

After Sherlock’s amazing deductions, after he ran off, yelling something about the colour pink and a suitcase, John limped his way down the stairs, trying to stay out of the way of the police officers who bustled up and down. As he walked out towards the police tape, he heard Greg calling his name.

“Hey, John!” Greg jogged up behind the man whom he’d once known, but who was now so different as to be unrecognisable. “D’you wanna go grab a pint? Not now, of course, but maybe when this case wraps up? It’ll be good to catch up a bit.”

John turned and smiled a little. “Yeah, that’d be nice. Here, uh, I’ll give you my number.”

They exchanged contacts quickly, then someone called for Inspector Lestrade over the radio.

“Okay, gotta go. I’ll see you, yeah?” Greg turned and jogged away with a jaunty wave.

*****

Greg was a little disappointed when he and his ‘drugs bust’ team found 221B empty. They found the evidence quickly, since it was sitting out in the open in the living room, but he told the team to keep looking, ‘just in case’. They were only too happy to, exploring Sherlock’s place with a sort of morbid fascination. Greg felt a slight twinge of guilt about that, but he tamped it down. It’s not like Sherlock let any of them have any privacy, announcing their secrets to the whole world. This was just turning the tables on him a bit.

They’d only been there for a while when he heard the front door slam. He heard voices, and laughter. He waited for the two men to come up, but they seemed to be just hanging around in the stairwell. God, he didn’t even want to consider what Sherlock and John were getting up to. Just the thought of it made his guts feel like they’d been twisted into a knot, and then set on fire. Plus, he just couldn’t imagine Sherlock like that. It was too weird. 

Mrs Hudson, who’d been fluttering around anxiously, went to fetch them. ‘Better you than me.” He thought. He hears two pairs of feet running up the stairs, although the significance of that escaped him until Sherlock strode in, followed by John, the both of them flushed and sweaty and bright eyed, John carrying his cane and walking confidently on both legs like he’d never had a limp to begin with. So apparently Sherlock was such a good kisser he could even magically cure people. Greg clamped down on the thought as Sherlock began shouting his objections to the bust. 

John was pleased, if slightly confused to see Greg, especially under such peculiar circumstances. Sherlock, a drug user? He certainly didn’t seem the type, and he attempted to object, but was soon corrected on that score by the man himself. 

Greg was rather relieved when Sherlock broke his staring contest with John to shout at him some more. Anything was better than watching them eye-fucking like there weren’t several other people in the room. Sherlock soon commanded the attention of the entire room, as usual, twirling about and being emotionally constipated as usual. Greg tried to direct an incredulous look at John, to say ‘I really hope you weren’t just making out with this guy’, but he was too busy looking at Sherlock. 

Sherlock ran off again, for something or other, and John sighed, putting his phone down. He’d been calling the pink lady’s phone, but if it was ringing, it wasn’t in the flat. Greg sighed, and signalled to his team to begin clearing out. He turned to John.

“Where did he go, then?” He asked.

John shrugged. “You know him better than I do.”

Greg shook his head. ‘Seems like you’re going to get to know him very well indeed soon enough.’ He thought. Out loud, he said, “I’ve known him for five years and no, I don’t.”

John smiled. “I’ve known you longer, then.”

Greg nodded, clearing his throat. “Hey, listen. Sherlock is- he’s a great man. But he can be a bit...I dunno. Hard to say, but just, take care of yourself, okay?”

He didn’t stick around for John’s reply, hurrying over to the door. “Right, I gotta go. I’ll see you around, yeah?” 

John nodded absently, not really paying attention. He’d just caught sight of Sherlock’s laptop, the little red dot indicating the location of the phone moving steadily away from Baker Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't seem to stay away from the johnlock, goshdarned it. It's true looove. Don't worry though, the pairing is not going to change! Maybe I could add some one sided pining... or is that too sad/complicated/cliche? What do you guys think?


	4. (Bang Bang) He Shot Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg is still jealous, and still wrong. Sally's a sniffer dog too, and rather more intelligent than Anderson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very little one this time. Sort of a filler chapter before the stuff starts happening.

Greg had only just got back to the station when he got a text from Sherlock. Apparently, he’d caught the killer. Also, the killer was dead. Sally chattered triumphantly at Greg the entire drive there, saying that it was just as she had always predicted. However, when they arrived there, it was clear that Sherlock had not killed the man. After all, it was unlikely that even Sherlock could shoot a man from several metres away, through two windows, while also sitting in front of him, while unarmed. 

Sherlock had been bullied into a blanket in the back of an ambulance, making him easy to spot as Greg went to get his statement. Sherlock was in another of his usual deductive rants when for the third time that night in front of Greg, he stopped to stare very obviously at John, who was standing quietly at the edge of the crime scene. John had always had an amazing ability to blend in, and it seems he had only refined this ability with time. Even here, at a crime scene where he, a civilian, had clearly no right to be, no one seemed to notice him standing there. Sherlock rapidly began backtracking, and all the pieces began to fall into place. A strong moral principle. Acclimatised to violence. John. He wondered If John had gone into the military, like Sherlock said, or if it was merely a misdeduction on Sherlock’s part. He'd have to ask John when he saw him again. For the moment, Greg had work to do, and Sherlock was walking towards John on with a familiar purposefulness that Greg really didn't want to think about. He turned away from the painful sight of John laughing with Sherlock, beckoning Sally over. 

“What did the Freak have to say?” She asked.  
Greg shrugged. “Nothing much. Apparently he’s in shock.” He gestured at Sherlock’s figure in the distance, still wearing the orange blanket.

“I don’t think he’s allowed to keep that.” She mused.

“Yes, well, Sherlock tends to just take a lot of things he really shouldn’t have.” Greg muttered.

Sally looked sharply at him. “Sounding a bit bitter there, Greg. Thought that was my job?” 

Greg waved her off irritably. “Get to work, Donovan.”

She only smirked. “You know, you only call me Donovan when you’re deflecting. I will get to the bottom of this. I’m a damn good detective, nevermind what the Freak says.” 

She wagged a finger at him, then turned and walked away. Greg sighed. She probably would, too. Sally was persistent like that. If he was honest though, he did want to talk about it. He’d never had a chance to. Sure, there were all those psych evals he’d had to undergo, but no one actually tells therapists anything. Plus, it seemed like John was back in the picture for good, and Greg had stuff he needed to get off his chest if he wanted to act anything remotely close to normal when the man was around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Greg is gonna have a drink and a chat with Sally, and a drink and a chat with John. But which should he have first? I dunno, I'll figure it out tomorrow. Tell me what you think.


	5. Chiquitita Tell Me What's Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally is an awesome friend. That's it, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pretty dialogue heavy chapter, oop. Is my writing style inconsistent? I don't know, I'm tired.

It was the wee hours of the morning by the time Greg and his team managed to clear the crime scene and made it back to the Yard for their debrief. Greg kept it short as he could, then dismissed them.

“Go get some sleep, guys. Take the morning off, but I want to see you all back here in the afternoon.”

As they all shuffled sleepily out, Sally came up to him. “You too, all right, Greg? You look dead on your feet.” 

Greg nodded, yawning. “You too, although you look perky as ever. I have no idea how you do it.” 

Sally smirked. It was a point of personal pride with her never to show weakness. It was the only way she’d managed to get as far as she had. “You have no idea. I’ll crash when I get home.”

Greg heaved himself up from the wall he’d been leaning against. “Best get home soon, then. Drive safe, I’ll see you in the afternoon.”

She grinned at him. “And tonight we’ll go out for a pint and you can tell me all about what’s got your knickers in a twist, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. Now go home.” He waved her off, but her words only made her roll her eyes.

“Like I’m going to just leave you here, I know if I do you’ll stay up several more hours trying to finish stuff that you can totally do later. Come on, I’ll walk you to the carpark.”

*****

True to her word, as soon as they were done for the day Sally hauled Greg out to a pub, efficiently getting him settled in a booth with a pint and a plate of chips. She sat across from him, leaning forward eagerly.

“Okay then, spill. Normally you quite like the Freak, God knows why, so what’s going on?” She smiled slyly. “Has it got something to do with that dishy little Doctor Watson he’s got following him about like a puppy?”

Greg looked up sharply at that. “How did you-”

She snorted. “I’ve seen you looking at him.” Seeing his look she shook her head. “Don’t worry, I doubt anyone else noticed. Except maybe the Freak, but I supposed he decided to keep his mouth shut for once. I just know you.”

Greg shook his head, looking down at the table. “It’s not like that, not really. At least, that’s not all, anyway. John’s not just any old ‘dishy’ guy.”

Sally’s eyebrows rose at that. “John, huh?” She took a sip of her drink. “So, ex?”

Greg’s hands flexed against the sticky synthetic material of the table. “Sort of. Not quite. It’s pretty complicated. A long story.”

Sally stole a chip off Greg’s plate, and he pushed it closer to her. “I’ve got all evening.”

Greg looked up, holding her gaze seriously. “Sally, the only reason I’m even considering telling you this is because I trust you, and because I know you’re incredibly professional, your pointless fighting with Sherlock aside. This is- this is really personal, not just for me but for John, too, even more so for him, actually,so you can’t, you really can’t, you absolutely cannot tell anyone. Alright? In fact, don’t even let John know that you know, I have no idea how he’ll react. He’s got quite the temper. Or at least, he did.”

Greg remembered a younger John, speaking quietly yet spitting with fury as he told Greg his story. He remembered the cabbie from the night before, a single kill shot, right to the heart. No, he didn’t think that aspect of John’s personality had changed much. 

Sally nodded solemnly. “I’ve got you, Greg. Won’t tell a soul.”

Greg sipped at his beer. “Okay, it went something like this…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha, a cliffhanger of sorts. Although it's only a cliffhanger if you haven't read the prompt, heh. Sorry for posting what is essentially two filler chapters in a row, I just need to...set the scene a bit, and I didn't want the chapter to run too long because consistent-ish chapter lengths is something I'm pretty anal about, when it comes to my own writing.


	6. But When I See Your Face...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg tells Sally about how he met John for the first time.

Greg walked behind his new ‘boss’, trying to control his expression of disgust as they walked down the corridor. On either side, separated from them by steel bars were sterile white rooms, boys milling about inside. Each room was separated from the next by the same steel bars. At the end of each room, not even partitioned off, were two toilet bowls and two shower heads. Greg felt for the poor sods who had to sleep next to that. Well, he felt for all of them, of course, but especially them. 

The other man- David, Greg remembered his name was. He’d somehow expected a more nefarious name- spoke, drawing Greg’s attention back to him. “So these are where the boys stay when they’re not needed. Ten beds to a room. Assigned beds- you’ve got your chart there, it’s got pictures so make sure they don’t switch around. Same for when you’re getting them out- your job is just to retrieve them when they’re needed, pass them over to Sam who’ll do all the prettying them up and such, but make sure you got the right one, don’t just call a name and hope he’s actually who he says he is. They’ll know you’re new, so expect them to play around with you a bit, see if you’re up to it.”

Greg silently reflected that when he’d volunteered for this job, he’d hadn’t expected to be Nanny McPhee to a bunch of prostitutes. Not prostitutes, he reminded himself. Sex slaves. Prostitutes got paid. 

At the end of the corridor, there was a single-bed room, partitioned off from the rest. “This room here is the ‘naughty box’.”David said, gesturing. “It’s not solitary confinement, we don’t believe in that stuff. It’s just somewhere we stick the naughty boys, let them cool their heels a bit. These beds here-” He pointed to the room just next to the ‘naughty box’, “They’re for the really good boys, it’s a bit nicer, beds are softer and such. So we put them next to the naughty box, and usually we hope our good boys will talk to whoever’s being naughty, make him see reason a bit. Of course, this stuff can go two ways, so you gotta monitor, if the boy looks like he’s stirring up trouble, you just-” He pressed a button on the wall, and with a creak and a groan a metal shutter lowered from the ceiling.

“However,” David continued, pressing the button again, “John here’s pretty quiet, so we don’t need that.” He gestured towards the cell. “Been here three years, and still in and out of the naughty box every other week. Almost more trouble than he’s worth.” He chuckled. “But he makes some pretty good money when he’s being good.”

Greg glanced into the cell, meeting the eyes of a boy who couldn’t be older than seventeen, sitting cross legged on the bed and glaring mutinously at him.

*****

Sally, who had been listening with a solemn expression, sucked in a gasp.

“So that was Doctor Watson?”

Greg nodded, looking more tired than ever. 

“There’s more, right?” She asked.

He nodded again. “Yeah. So, that was the first day, first undercover job. And then that night…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dunno how I feel about this chapter. My dialogue-description ratio and flow needs work, I think.


	7. Tonight You're Lying With a Sex Genius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson's indomitable powers of sass. Basically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly longer one, though not by much. I cut a few bits that I thought were a bit draggy. How are you guys feeling about the pacing of this story? Too fast? Too slow? I think it's a bit uneven, but I'm not really sure what to do about it. In other news, my dumb song lyric inspired chapter titles have hit a new low.

Greg walked down the corridor, testing each door to make sure it was locked properly before he knocked off for the night. All the boys not rented out for the night were asleep, save for a few still sitting up, whispering to each other in the darkness. He’d reached the end when he heard a quiet voice calling out to him.

“Hey, you! You’re a cop ain’t ya.”

Greg squinted, just making out the blurry shape of the boy in the ‘naughty box’. “No I’m not.” He hissed.

The boy- John, he reminded himself- scoffed audibly. “I know you are. You’re pretty obvious.”

“I’m not obvious. Or a cop.” Greg’s shoulders slumped. Well, that definitely gave it away.

John chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to snitch on you. But you’re being way too nice. Like just now, you should’ve just backhanded me before I even started talking.”

Greg raised an eyebrow, although he knew John probably wasn’t able to see it. “Through the bars?”

John’s shadowy figure shifted in the shape of a shrug. “Or come in here to do it. Or fuck me into the mattress so I shut up.”

Greg’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not going to do that!” He said, a little bit too loud. In the next room one of the figures shifted, stretching, and rolled over to face them.

“Shit, he’s awake, quick, get in here.” John whispered urgently.

“What, why?” Greg asked, confused.

“Just do it.” John said. Though quiet, his voice was infused with the sort of commanding tone that Greg found difficult to ignore. He fumbled with the keys, opening the door and stepping into the room.  
John laid back on the bed, spreading his legs. “Now take off your trousers and get up here so it looks like you’re fucking me.”

“Is this really necessary?” Greg protested, although he was already toeing off his shoes.

John nodded. “I’m not a snitch, but they definitely are. Especially that one. Adrian. I don’t blame him, though. We’re the same age, but he’s been here longer, about five years? So he was around back when the big boss didn’t care so much about keeping the assets in good condition, didn’t mind having underaged kids. I came in after, so I don’t really know what it was like. Bad, I think. So I guess I can understand. He’s scared.”

Greg got on the bed, settling his hips against John’s and moving them in a steady rhythm. He buried his face in John’s shoulder. “God, this is weird.” He whispered. 

John cried out softly, sounding pained. Greg lifted his head, though he had the presence of mind not to stop moving. “You okay?” John nodded.

“So how old are you? Sixteen, seventeen?” 

John shook his head, gasping audibly. “Nineteen, actually.” he whispered in a normal voice. 

“You’re good at that. The...sounds. And stuff. It’s a bit alarming.” 

John laughed softly. Greg could feel his breath against his ear. And his erection against his thigh. Dear God. “Three years of this shite. I’m practically a professional.” He let out a high whine.

Greg shook his head. “This is ridiculous. How are you so calm? Well I guess this is normal for you.”

“Better than, I think. At least you’re alright looking.” Greg could hear the smile in John’s voice.

*****

Sally let out a giggle, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh gosh, I think I’m drunk.” she whispered. “That wasn’t funny, I’m so sorry.” She ran a hand through her wild hair, tugging on the strands as though that would pull her back to sobriety.

Greg shook his head. He was also somewhat inebriated. “It’s fine. I told you it was a long story. Anyway, I’ll fast forward a bit. I was there for a few weeks as we set up the bust, and during that time…”


	8. I've Come Home from So Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's a BAMF. Greg's a BAMF. John gets injured anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, super long chapter for me. Nearing the end of Greg's tale, but from the chapter after next comes the really important part- what is he gonna do about it?

Greg visited John every night for the next few weeks, chatting quietly as they humped and moaned, in case anyone woke up and saw them. In fact several did, and it became known to Daniel and the others, who gently ribbed Greg about it, but otherwise didn’t seem to care much. At first they mostly talked strategy, John giving Greg tips on how to be more convincing in his role, but more and more their conversations wandered into more personal areas. Greg knew he was playing a dangerous game, that he was getting too attached when he really shouldn’t at all, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. The late night chats with John were one of the only things keeping him sane. 

Some nights John was out, off keeping some disgusting man company. Those nights were the worst. Greg spent those nights lying awake until the wee hours of the morning, both sick with worry and alight with jealousy, thinking of John moaning for a faceless man with rough hands and a snide voice.

Once, as Greg was rutting against John, he heard him cry out, his body shuddering beneath Greg’s. He thought it was John’s usual theatrics, until he felt the growing dampness between them. He left quickly after that, and jerked himself to completion once he was alone, shame and guilt welling up within him. He returned the next night, but they didn’t speak about it. 

During the day, Greg did his ‘job’ and gathered intel. The reason it took so long was that while Greg was with the main operation, the man organising the whole thing was somewhere else. So Greg sent the time he could figuring out who he was and where he was, and gathering evidence that could implicate the man. Once that was done it took a while longer to coordinate the bust because they had to take down both the boss at the main operation almost simultaneously, lest one send word to the other to go into hiding. 

Even after all that planning, something managed to go wrong anyway. Greg’s job during that part of the operation was simply to continue as usual, and avoid arousing suspicion. At the time, it just so happened that he was supposed to be getting John ready to see one of his ‘regulars’. As he was passing him over to Sam, she saw his colleagues closing in on the building from the window. 

“Oh God, it’s the police, let’s go!” She cried.

She grabbed him by the arm, but something in his expression must have given him away.

“It’s you, you’re a cop.” She said with dawning realisation, and then completely without warning, she grabbed a huge pair of cloth scissors, swinging it at him. John reacted as though he’d expected it, leaping between them and pushing Greg back with his elbow. The scissors struck him in the fleshy part of the shoulder, penetrating it with a sickeningly squidgy sound. 

Greg, recovering quickly, overpowered her quickly, pinning her to the ground. He grabbed the nearest pieces of cloth he could get, twisting them into ropes and binding her hands and feet. Once he was certain she was secure, he turned to John, cradling the boy’s head in his lap. 

“Just hang in there John, you’re going to be fine.” He said to him.

John’s features shifted into a pained smile. “You did it. We’re all going to be rescued now. And I can- I’m going to be a doctor.”

Greg nodded. “You’ll be a great doctor.” He whispered.

John shifted, then cried out in pain, glancing down at the pair of scissors still lodged in his shoulder. “God, that hurts.” He gasped. 

“Help is coming. Just hang on.” Greg brushed John’s hair away from his face.

*****

Sally leaned forwards, nearly hanging off the edge of her seat. “And then what happened?”

Greg shrugged. “Help came. He went to hospital, I had a lot of paperwork to do. We had to interview every single one of the boys individually, which took ages, and try to reconnect them with their families, which took even longer. We found John’s family. His father- the one who sold him in the first place- was dead, but we found his mother and his sister. I didn’t really have time to go see him, but he came to see me, after he was recovered....”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, worst fight scene ever I'm sorry.


	9. Throwing All the Cards on the Table 'Cause I Want to Dance With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is adorable. Greg is oblivious. Sally feels all of our frustration.

Greg had finished up for the day, and was about to leave the office when he saw John, left arm in a sling and holding a bouquet of flowers. He’d been sitting one of the chairs that lined the corridor, but when he saw Greg, he stood up, face brightening. He walked up to Greg, holding out the flowers almost shyly.

“I got these for you.” 

Greg took the flowers with a polite smile. It wasn’t uncommon for victims or their families to express their gratitude in the form of gifts. They even had guidelines for what they could and could not accept. They could accept flowers, cards, and food. They could accept items as long as they weren’t very expensive. The line of what is ‘expensive’ was a little fuzzy. They were not allowed to accept any amount of cash. 

“Thank you, John.” he shifted the bouquet into the crook of his arm.

John’s feet shuffled nervously, and he looked up at Greg. “Um, I was wondering if you’d like to go out for dinner?”

Greg nodded. “Alright, sure. Let me just put these down.”

He turned around to go back to his desk and leave the flowers on his desk, John following closely behind.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come visit you in hospital, I’ve been terribly busy. How’s the shoulder?” 

John gave a one-armed shrug. “Not bad. I’m on painkillers, so it probably hurts like shit, but I can’t tell so it doesn’t matter. Doctors said I’ll probably regain full use of my arm, so that’s pretty good.” 

Greg grinned at John. “That’s great! And, I heard they found your family.”

John sobered at that. “Yeah. Dad’s dead, good fucking riddance, so Mum’s doing alright now. She was really upset, kept crying and blaming herself. I tried to tell her it’s not, but I mean. You know how mums are. Saw Harry again too, she’s-” He shook his head “Not good. Haven’t yet seen her sober. I’m not sure what to do about it.”

Greg took John’s hand, squeezing once before letting go. “I’m sorry about your sister. As for what you can do… sometimes there isn’t anything. Be there for her, if you can. You’ve got your own pile of shit to deal with too, though, so maybe you won’t be able to. And that doesn’t make you a bad brother.”

Greg was fairly certain that was what John was really thinking. John looked after people, it was what he did. Of all the times he’d landed in the ‘naughty box’, it was nearly always in defence of someone else. He didn’t know what to do with himself, without someone to look after. It was why Greg knew he’d be an incredible doctor. 

They exited the building, and John took Greg by the elbow, steering him in the direction he wanted them to go. “The pizza place I told you about is still there, that’s where we’re gonna have dinner.” His tone brooked no argument.

*****

Sally groaned, burying her face in her hands. “He took you out on a date. And you didn’t notice. God. And you call yourself a policeman.”

Greg shrugged sheepishly. “Yeah, not my finest moment. Or moments, seeing as I didn’t figure it out until he kissed me…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this story keeps dragging itself out. This was supposed to be the last flashback chapter. But there's still at least one more. Ooooops?


	10. Baby Come and Kiss My Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is not okay. Greg is not okay. Sally is having second-hand not-okayness.

John and Greg fell easily into conversation, just as they had before. After dinner, John took up Greg’s offer of a ride home, and they walked slowly back to NSY. The drive was spent in companionable silence, and when they arrived at John’s house Greg parked the car and walked John to the door, aware that they weren’t exactly in the best neighbourhood. John stopped in front of his door, turning to Greg.

“I had a nice time tonight, thank you.” 

Greg smiled back. “You’re welcome. It was nice to catch up, I’m glad you’re well and-”

He was interrupted by the gentle pressure of John’s lips against his. Instinctively, he leaned in, mouth moving against John’s before his mind clicked back online, and he reared back.

“John, you- This isn’t-” He stammered, and then stopped, collecting himself. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

John shifted closer. “Please.” He whispered. “You don’t have to-” He paused. “Just one night.” He began again. “I just want to know, what it’s like. I’ve never had it.” Seeing Greg’s confused look, he shook his head. “Not like that. I mean, like this. With someone I- Someone who cares.” 

John was pressed flush against Greg now, blinking up at him, pupils wide in the dim light of the stairwell. He flattened a hand against Greg’s collarbone, sliding it down Greg’s chest. Greg put a hand on John’s waist, almost as if in a trance. John leaned in, mouthing along Greg’s jaw.

“You know I’m good. I could make it worth your while.” He whispered. 

That jerked Greg back into reality. He put a hand on John’s chest, pushing him gently away.

“I’m not going to take advantage of you like that.” He said, shaking his head. “You’ll find someone who’s right for you. There isn’t any rush. You’re a wonderful person, John, and anyone would be lucky to have you. But you’ve come off a pretty traumatic experience, and you need time to get yourself sorted. All the best, all right? Look after yourself.” 

Mildly impressed by his own speech and reluctant to say any more lest he put his foot in his mouth and ruin it, Greg clapped John on the shoulder and jogged down the steps, determinedly not looking back at John..

*****

Sally actually had her head down on the table, buried in her forearms. “Oh my God. Oh my God, Greg. Holy fuck.”

Greg nodded. “Yeah, I know. And that was the last time I saw him, until yesterday.” 

Sally looked up, as though suddenly remembering that she really had met John Watson. “Wow, it’s kinda unbelievable. He’s so...normal.”

Greg nodded. “He’s always good at that. It’s like he’s a shadow. Hard to notice, until he’s practically on top of you, and by that time you’re probably dead.”

Sally snorted at the description. “You’re drunk, Greg.”

“Yeah, I am.” He agreed. “You remember, though. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t even act different around him, he’s smart, he’ll know.”

Sally nodded along. “Yeah, I get it. So, your super complicated almost ex is back, getting all cosy with the Freak, you’re dying of jealousy, whaddya gonna do about it?” 

Greg shrugged. “No idea.”

She fixed him with a piercing look. “You did the right thing, though.” 

Greg sighed, and drained his glass. “I know I did. I know.” He looked up at her. “Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this was a rollercoaster. At first Greg was going to reject John right after the kiss, then I was like, what if they had sex? And then halfway through actually writing the chapter I realised Greg would never do that. So here we are.


	11. You Have Found (Him), Now Go and Get (Him)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a giant crush. Sherlock cuts him zero slack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A filler-ish chapter, sorry about that. But hey, at least you finally get some John perspective again. Also, I love deduction sequences. I don't know if i'm any good, but I just think they're so fun!

John woke up late Sunday morning to a text from Greg.

Hey, it’s Greg. You still up for that pint? GL

Sure! Tonight? JW

After sending the message John mentally chided himself over how eager that sounded. Seeing Greg again, it brought out that buried part of him, the desperate, lost, confused, hopelessly infatuated child he’d been a decade and a half ago. 

That makes sense, because I’ve given my team Monday off because they worked Saturday to finish up the case. GL

But it also doesn’t make sense because I got smashed last night and twice in a row will definitely make me feel like an alcoholic. GL

Doesn’t have to be a drink. JW

Dinner? JW

I promise i won’t kiss you. JW

John rolled over, burying his face in his pillow in exasperation at himself. Why did he bring that up? He lifted his head at the pinging sound of a new message.

Dinner’s fine. I’m feeling like something greasy and unhealthy like fish and chips. GL

Sounds good to me. Got anywhere in mind? JW

John got up, taking his phone with him as he got up and got dressed. He padded downstairs and started the kettle, barely glancing at Sherlock who looked like he hadn’t gone to sleep at all, and was doing something unmentionable to a pair of left feet. He looked up at John and then back at his feet. 

“Lestrade texted.” He deduced.

“Yeah, he did. How did you know? Tea?” John didn’t wait for Sherlock’s answer, getting down mugs for the both of them. 

“Obvious.” Sherlock scoffed. “You’ve got your phone with you. You wouldn’t normally bother, you’re not the technologically dependent sort, given how appallingly slowly you were typing yesterday. So you’re in the middle of a text conversation, or waiting for a text. A majority of your acquaintances don’t have your number, you’ve been absolutely terrible about keeping contact after you were invalided out. It’s not your sister, or you’d be in a worse mood, it’s not me, obviously, or I’d know, it could be Mike Stamford, but judging from the truly pathetic way you keep glancing at it even though he obviously has not texted you, or it would have lit up and made a sound, I’d say it was Lestrade.”

“I’m not pathetic.” Was all John had to say to that, turning away to face the counter in order to hide his flushed cheeks. Was he really that obvious?

Sherlock only snorted. “Ask him if he has a case.”

John’s phone chimed just as Sherlock was saying that.

Hey, sorry, I took a shower. There’s a place near my flat, but it’s not really that great. I’ll try googling it. GL

I’m fine with anything. Sherlock wants to know if you have a case. JW

No, thank God. I’m still exhausted from the last one. GL

Oh hey, ask Sherlock if he knows any good fish and chip places. He always seems to know where to eat, which is pretty mysterious because he never does. GL

He says there’s a place near Marylebone Road. JW

Great! That’s near Baker Street. Get walking directions from him, I’ll swing by at half past six. GL

Sounds good, see you tonight then. JW


	12. I Need to Get My Story Straight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock ships it. John and Greg catch up.

Greg jogged up the steps to Sherlock’s Baker Street flat, stepping through the door to find only Sherlock, lying on the sofa looking like he was about to expire from boredom. The usual, basically. 

“You’re not here for a case.” He said, somewhat sulkily. “John’s upstairs, fixing his hair for the third time tonight. Stupid, he barely has any. Go put him out of his misery.”

Greg walked over to the foot of the stairs, calling up to John. He didn’t climb them, uncertain whether John would view that as an invasion of his personal space. 

Hearing his name in Greg’s voice, John jogged down the stairs, grabbing his coat as he went. He smiled at Greg. “Okay, we good to go?”

Greg nodded and smiled. “Have a nice date!” Sherlock yelled after them as they turned to leave. John flushed, shaking his head. “It’s not a date!” He shouted back, before walking briskly out into street, hoping the cool night air would cool his burning cheeks. Greg looked between the two of them before he shook his head and followed John out. Sherlock turned over, facing the sofa cushions to hide a smile.

Greg jogged to catch up with John. “So, you and Sherlock, then. You’re not… together?”

John barked a dry laugh. “Et tu, Greg?’ He shook his head. “Everyone seems to assume we’re an item. But no, can you imagine? I sure as heck can’t. Sherlock in a relationship. That’d be the day. Anyway, I’ve kind of sworn off men, after...you know why.”

Greg nodded. “Yeah, I can see why you would. Does, um, does Sherlock know? About you?”

John huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, yeah he does. He hacked police records, apparently. Confronted me about it this afternoon the same way he did with my service, just casually, like it’s nothing, I swear the man’s an alien. Then he had a two hour strop because he should’ve seen it sooner.”

Greg shrugged. “Yeah, that’s Sherlock for you. No sense of privacy whatsoever. I’d say we need to update our security, but he’d probably just find it a fun challenge. Or a boringly simple one, more likely. Nothing seems to really surprise him though, I guess he’s just seen too much.”

John laughed hollowly. “I know the feeling.”

The fish and chip place was only five minutes away, and turned out to be so hole-in-the-wall it didn’t even have tables. They got their food, and John suggested they just walk.

“I don’t much feel like going back to the flat. And I’m rather enjoying walking without a cane.” He explained.

Greg raised his eyebrow. “You have to explain that one. What happened to it?”

John grinned. “Sherlock did it. I’m not really sure how, he deduced it was psychosomatic and then distracted me by making me chase a car on foot. And I just forgot I had a limp. Or something.”

“Was it because you were shot? You mentioned serving.”

John did a sort of half shrug. “It developed after I was shot. But not in the leg. In the shoulder, the left one, can you believe it? It’s probably unlucky or something.” 

Greg smiled at him. “And you became a doctor.”

John smiled back. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of Sherlock everywhere. If you find this annoying, I'm sorry. I kinda do too. Partly it's because he's my son and I love him. Partly because I'm a hardcore johnlock shipper struggling to fit the ship I'm trying to write into a canon which I'm convinced shows that they were meant for each other from the start. It's an interesting puzzle, which, curiously enough, cannot actually be solved by simply saying 'just make them epic best friends', for me, at any rate. I'm stupidly meticulous about the oddest things sometimes.


	13. From the Rain Comes a River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has it bad. Greg has it rough. The two 'it's in this case are two completely different things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shortish one. Apologies. My brain is a bit fried at the moment.

They wandered aimlessly through London, John regaling Greg with tales of med school shenanigans and his time in the army. They entered to a park, and sat down on a bench.

“What about you then? You got promoted."

“I should bloody well hope so, after fifteen years.” Greg snorted.

“And Sherlock mentioned you have a wife?” John probed.

Greg nodded. “Marie. She’s...it’s not going well.”

“Sounds rough. Sherlock told me a bit about it.” John said sympathetically. “What are you going to do? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s fine.” Greg said, shaking his head. “Be good to get it off my chest. It’s been going wrong or a while now, I think we were never meant for each other. I mean, we only got together because of Annie, and with a little perspective, honestly, a kid is a terrible reason to marry someone. Or stay with them. I know the custody battle’s going to be a nightmare.”

“You have a kid?” John interrupted. 

Greg nodded. “Three. Seven, ten, and fourteen. All girls. Anne first, then it was Christine, then Rebecca.”

John did some quick mental calculation. “Fourteen… So were you, uh, married? When I knew you?”

God, he hoped not. That would be the thing that made last meeting more embarrassing than it already was. 

Greg shook his head. “I was single at the time. Fast, I know. We’d been friends a long time, then fuck buddies, then she got pregnant and it was like, heck, why not get married. Both our love lives were shite anyway.”

“Wow.” John said, eyes wide. “You know, I can’t imagine you doing that at all. You, the hardcore romantic.”

“I was a bit messed up at the time. Did a lot of dumb things.” Greg said, shrugging.

“We’ve both changed a lot, huh.” John marvelled, crumpling up his now empty packet. 

“I guess you can say that.” Greg agreed. “But it’s just as easy to talk to you as it’s always been. Thank you, really. I’d love to do this again, anytime.”

John looked up at Greg, and was caught for a moment by the intensity of his gaze. They stared at each other, and John almost thought something might happen, but the moment passed, the both of them blinking it away as Greg stood and stretched. 

“Hey, this park is pretty near my place. I bring the kids here, when I can. I’ll, uh, head back, I think. Have an early night. The main road’s that way. You gonna be okay?”

John nodded, smiling until Greg turned around, and watched Greg leave without noticing John still standing there as though rooted to the ground, looking at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, did you remember Greg's wife? Do you want John introduced to Greg's girls? I think it'd be cute, but I know some people object to OCs...


	14. Stop Telephoning Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have lunch. At least, they attempt to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An even shorter one. I swear I'm not flagging. It's just how the chapters are choosing to divide themselves at the moment. That's right folks, the awful truth. Your author isn't even slightly in control of his own darn writing. Oops?

They met for lunch the following Saturday. In the week in between, John began looking for a job, Sherlock took on a number of private cases, and Greg was swamped with murders that Sherlock took one look at and deemed ‘too boring to even consider.’ Greg texted John Friday evening, gasping for a break.

Lunch tomorrow? I need to talk to someone normal. GL

Then why are you asking me? JW

...True. GL

I dunno. GL

You make me feel normal. GL

By comparison? JW

If I meant it like that, I’d ask Sherlock. GL

Not really something I can explain. GL

No, I know what you mean. JW

I’d love to. JW

Great! There’s this Indian place I’ve been meaning to try out, Marie says they do a good wrap. GL

Email me the address, I’ll meet you there noon? JW

Sent. Noon’s perfect. GL

*****

The shop was another hole-in-the-wall sort of place, though big enough to handle the sizeable Saturday afternoon crowd. They watched their wraps being made in front of them through a glass window, the bread fried on a huge flat pan, the meat and veggies scooped from huge aluminium vats and wrapped tight in brown grease-proof paper. However they’d barely sat down when Greg got a call from his wife. He rolled his eyes dramatically at John before picking up.

“Yeah?....Oh my God, Marie….This had better be work and not you off doing-.... I’m out with a friend, actually, I-….Yes, yes, fine. Alright. You owe me….Bye.”

John looked quizzically at Greg. Greg sighed, scrubbing his non-greasy hand through his hair. 

“Marie’s got a work emergency, apparently. She can’t pick up Chris’ from soccer practice. Which ends in like, half an hour, so I have to leave now-ish. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. Hey, I could come with?” John said, then shook his head, backtracking quickly. “Or not, I wouldn’t want to intrude on your father-daughter time.”

“No, that’d be great!” Greg said eagerly. “I’m sure Chris’ won’t mind.”

“Alright. Has she had lunch? Should we pick up something for her?” John suggested.

Greg shook his head. “She’s a picky eater, I’ve learned not to buy her food without consulting her first. Mind you, it doesn’t stop her from complaining about the food. But at least then I can tell her it’s her own fault.”

John laughed. “Makes sense. Let’s go, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I guess you guys have figured out that this is more a slow, meandering, realistic sort of story, rather than anything in which fast-paced action stuff happens. It's my style, I guess. I write about people more than events. Hope you don't mind, I know it's probably not what you'd expect from a story that's about how John used to be a sex slave.


	15. I Know Where to Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris' is adorable. Also, surprisingly perceptive.

“What’s Chris’ like?” John asked in the car.

Greg smiled, visibly brightening the way every parent does when they get to brag about their child. “She’s ten, I think I told you the other day. Feisty little thing, a real tomboy. Feels a bit like I kinda get to have the boy I didn’t actually get to have. She loves football, pretty good at it too. She’s got a real temper on her, but she’s also the sweetest thing when she wants to be. Loves animals. Won’t stop asking questions.”

John smiled at him. “I bet you’re really proud of her.”

Greg nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

*****

The car pulled into the carpark of the community football field, and from the little cluster of children standing at the side a tiny figure in red and white darted between the cars, sliding into the back seat.

“Hi Daddy! Who’s that?” She asked brightly.

“Christine, that wasn’t safe! I keep telling you, wait for me to come get you.” Greg said sternly.

Christine ducked her head. “Sorry, Daddy.”

“This is my friend John.” Greg said, letting the matter drop. “John, this is Christine.”

“Hi, Christine.” John said in a friendly tone.

“Hi.” She said. The two regarded each other through the rear view mirror. She was tiny for her age, pale and skinny with a sharply pointed face and delicate features. Her blonde hair was boyishly cut short, and all in all, she looked nothing like her father, except for her bright eyes, which looked just like her father’s. 

“So, where to, babe?” Greg asked. John’s eyes widened, before he realised that the question was, obviously, directed at Christine.  
“Mummy always takes me to Pret.” She said, her chin jutting out as though daring her father to object.

Greg only chuckled. “Pret it is.” He shared an amused smile with John as he started the car.

*****

They got a takeaway chicken sandwich for Chris’, and found a shady spot outdoors to sit and eat. Chris’ chattered happily, easily dominating the conversation with tales of her life in school and on the pitch. The two men were perfectly happy to let her talk, only interrupting to ask a question or make a comment to show they were listening. At one point, Greg got up to go to the toilet.

“You’ll be all right with her, yeah?” He asked John.

John waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll be fine. Just go, before you wet yourself or something.” He shared a conspiratorial smile with Chris’. 

She giggled, but then sobered as Greg left, leaning close to him. “You’ll look after my Daddy, right?” She asked, brown eyes wide.

John’s brow creased. “Yes, of course. Why?”

She shrugged. “I know Mummy and Daddy are going to break up. And Daddy will be sad, because he likes Mummy, even though they’re not in love. But he won’t let us help, because he has to be Daddy. But he trusts you, I can tell. So you have to help me look after him, because I’m not allowed. Okay?” She looked piercingly at him, her little face serious.

John nodded solemnly. “Okay.”

She held out her fist, pinky outstretched, and with all the gravity of a binding oath, he did the same, curling his littlest finger around hers and touching the tips of their thumbs together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how d'you find her? Cute? Cliche? Tell me, I wanna know.


	16. All of the Ghouls Come Out to Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes deductions. John is pissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had lots of requests for angst. Here ya goooo. Thanks to [youdbefuntomurder](http://archiveofourown.org/users/youdbefuntomurder/pseuds/youdbefuntomurder) for the suggestion of Sherlock deducing that Sally knows. And it's a hecking long one, wow. You see, comments=inspiration=longer chapters :P

On Monday Greg got a case, one that seemed fairly open and shut, and so he didn’t bother to tell Sherlock about it until they hit a snag in their theory, the snag being that their number one suspect’s not-so-rock-solid alibi of having been at a party became rather more rock-solid by the surfacing of several rather embarrassing videos whose timestamps proved that he was, indeed at that party from ten in the evening to nearly midnight. So on Wednesday morning Sherlock was called in, and he came down to the station, grumbling to John the whole time that if they’d just called him in sooner, he would’ve been able to look at the actual crime scene, and the killer would probably have been caught already. 

Sherlock stepped into the meeting room Lestrade had said he was in without knocking, John on his heels, holding out his hand imperiously. “Case file.” He demanded.

Greg handed it over with a sigh, sharing a commiserating glance with Sally, who’d been there discussing the case with him. Sherlock opened it, then paused, looking up at Donovan, who was doing a terrible job of attempting to watch John discreetly, then at Lestrade, who was shooting nervous glances between John and Donovan. He rolled his eyes.

“Oh, get out, Donovan. He’s not your puzzle game, go find a Rubik’s cube or something to play with.” He spat.

Sally’s hackles rose at his tone, but then what he’d said registered and she deflated a little. Anticipating an explosion, she got up and left, shooting an apologetic glance at Greg. Greg scowled at Sherlock.

“And I suppose you think he’s yours, do you?”

Sherlock opened his mouth to fire back a retort, but was interrupted by John.

“No, no, you shut up.” He said, pointing at Greg. Sherlock’s face morphed into a triumphant smirk, but John turned to him. “You too. Let’s be quite clear about this, I’m not anybody’s. I think I’ve had quite enough of being _owned_ for one lifetime, so get that idea out of your heads.” He turned to Greg, advancing on him. “You had no right to tell her.” He said quietly. “You didn’t. It’s not your story to tell.”

Behind him, Sherlock stepped forward. “John.” He said softly.

“Don’t ‘John’ me.” John snapped. “Don’t give me that face, either, I’m not- You can’t-” 

He made a sound of frustration and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Sherlock made to follow him, but Greg got up quickly, grabbing him by the elbow and shaking his head.

“He needs to stew for a bit, it’s all right.” Greg’s words weren’t entirely for Sherlock’s benefit, though. “Come on.” He tilted his head towards the table. “Case.”

*****

Sherlock solved the case quickly, and by late afternoon Greg was returning to his office, intending to gather his stuff and go home where he could worry about John in relative peace. Instead he found John waiting in his office, the scene oddly reminiscent of the last time he’d found John waiting for him, years ago. John stood up, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Hey, Greg. I, uh. Just wanted to apologise for yelling at you just now. I know I said it’s not your story to tell, but honestly, it kind of is, I guess, I know that was hard for you and I can understand why you’d want to talk about it to your friend. It’s just- I’ve spent years, working at being normal, and I really did have to work at it, you know, it wasn’t easy, and then suddenly there’s you again, not that I actually mind that bit, and Sherlock goes and digs it up and you tell Donovan, and suddenly there’s this whole load of people who know this...thing, about me, and it’s just- overwhelming. That’s all.”

The entire speech was delivered somewhat woodenly, as though John was carefully sticking to a script he’d spent all afternoon crafting, and all that did was make Greg nervous, as though at any moment John’s careful control would snap, and he’d start yelling again. He shook his head.

“No, you’re right, I should’ve at least asked you first, or given you some warning. I’m sorry about that.”

John nodded, relaxing fractionally. At least, the unnatural stillness left his body, although there remained a wary, haunted look in his eye. He reached up a hand, running it through his short hair. 

“I’m not really looking forward to going back to the flat and talking to Sherlock.” He sighed. 

“Well if you want you can hide out at my place, Annie’s cooking, and the girls would be happy to distract you.” Greg offered, though he doubted John would take him up on it. John probably wanted to avoid him just as much as he wanted to avoid Sherlock. To his surprise, John nodded, even smiling a tiny bit.

“I’d love to, if they don’t mind.” 

Greg nodded, gathering up his stuff. “It’s fine. Come along, then.”


	17. Look at Your Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lestrades. Chris' is still adorable. Annie is awkward. Marie is not the villain you may want her to be. ???? Rebecca. Maybe next chapter.

Anne’s eyes lit up when she heard her father’s footsteps on the stair, going out into the hall to greet him.

“Dad! You’re early.”

“On time for once, more like.” Greg murmured, hugging her. “Smells amazing, love. Got room for one more?” 

Anne stood on tiptoes to see over her father’s shoulder, getting a glimpse of a tired-looking blond man about her father’s age. He gave her a little half wave. 

“We’ve got plenty.” She detached herself from her father, approaching the man with her hand outstretched. “Hi, I’m Anne.”

He shook her hand with a polite smile, though he looked a bit like he wasn’t entirely present. “Hi. John Watson.”

“Pleased to meet you.” She said quietly, then stepped back, fiddling anxiously with her apron, not really sure what to say. Fortunately, she was saved by her father, who stepped up behind her, squeezing her elbow comfortingly. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up? I’m sure John and I can handle the rest of dinner.”

She nodded, relieved. “It’s nearly done. It’s a baked rice thing, so it’s really easy, you can just take it out of the oven when the bell rings and put it on the cooling rack, I already took out the cooling rack so it should be on the counter.”

Her father nodded, and she retreated quickly, popping her head into her sisters’ bedroom on the way to the bathroom. 

“Chris’, Becks? Daddy’s home.” She informed the two girls.

They both dropped their stuff, running to the kitchen. Rebecca jumped up into Greg’s arms, wrapping her arms around his neck. Chris’ latched on to his side, then, seeing John, went to hug him, too. 

“Hi, Mister John. What are you doing here?”

John, thrown by this enthusiastic greeting, put his arm around her briefly. “Hi, Chris’. Your dad invited me over for dinner.”

She grinned. “Cool!”

Greg put Rebecca down. “Alright, bugger off, you lot.”

The pair ran off to their room. John looked at Greg, shaking his head. 

“You have kids.” He said, a sort of marvelling tone in his voice.

Greg frowned at John. “Yeah, I do. I told you about them. You met Chris’ last week. You all right?”

John shook his head. “No, I mean. I knew. But. You have _kids_. Three of ‘em, running around your flat. One of them’s almost as tall as you. And can cook. It’s a bit surreal.”

Greg chuckled. “I get what you mean. Sometimes it’s a bit surreal for me, too, and it’s my own life.”

The timer rang, and Greg grabbed the oven mitts, getting the pan out of the oven and sliding it onto the rack. Carefully, he kicked the oven closed. Then, he heard the click of heels, and his wife came into the kitchen. He turned, smiling at her.   
“Hey, Marie. This is John Watson, old friend. I invited him round, if that’s okay.”

Marie’s mouth dropped open slightly, and Greg suddenly remembered that Marie was one of the few people who actually knew about John. That was years ago, though. He couldn’t believe she remembered. He caught her eye, shaking his head minutely. She closed her mouth, nodding slightly at him, and then turned to smile brightly at John.

“John, hello. Lovely to meet you. It’s fine with me, as long as it’s fine with Annie.” She leaned in to stage whisper at him. “She’s the real lady of this house, not me.” She grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what, I like Marie. I know some of you were gunning for some kind of total bitch, but nah. She's just a woman trapped in a crap marriage who made some poor decisions. That's all.


	18. In Our Hearts a Hopeful Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonding time with the family. Greg has an interesting marriage. They hold hands.

Marie turned to Greg, smiling. “I’m not staying I’m afraid, I’ve got dinner with Tom. Ugh, you should’ve told me you’d be home, I haven’t really seen you in ages.”

Greg hugged her, kissing her on the cheek. “It’s all right, I’ve got John and the girls to entertain me. What are you doing Saturday? We could take the girls out for the afternoon, if you’ve nothing on.”

“Saturday’s great. Okay, I really have to go get cleaned up, we’ve got early reservations.”

Greg let her go. “Annie’s bathing right now.”

“Goodness.” Marie sighed. She turned to John. “That girl takes forever, I don’t know what she does in there. I’m going to go say hi to the girls, it was great meeting you.”

She waved, and then took off down the hallway. John turned to Greg. “Who’s Tom?”

Greg smiled slightly. “Boyfriend. They’re sickeningly in love.”

His eyebrows rose. “And you’re just okay with that? Do the girls know?”

“It’s complicated.” Greg said with a shrug. “I am alright with it, and it’s actually way less complicated than her going behind my back and me trying to pretend I don’t know, and all that nonsense other people do. But no, the girls don’t know. How would you explain something like that? It’s one of the reasons we’re considering divorce. I mean, they understand divorce. Half their friends have divorced parents.”

As he spoke, Greg dug around in the cupboards, getting out place mats and forks and spoons. He passed the utensils over to John. “You do these.”

The two worked in tandem, getting the table set. In the background, they could hear Marie chatting to her younger daughters, and her delighted exclamation as Anne got out and freed up the bathroom. Anne came into the kitchen, herding her two younger sisters along.

Dinner was a cheerful sort of chaos, conversation flowing easily. John never felt left out, talking mostly to Chris’ and Greg, with Rebecca piping up every now and then with curious questions. Anne talked mostly to her sisters, although John noticed her shooting him curious glances when she thought he wasn’t looking. He tried to engage her, asking her about school, or her hobbies, mostly with little success. She didn’t seem hostile so much as awkward, avoiding his gaze and replying with short, simple sentences. However, with a little trial and error, he managed to light upon she could talk about, and she loosened up somewhat, plying him with far more Lord of the Rings trivia than he knew what to do with. 

After dinner and washing up the girls vanished into their room, Anne herding them away with some complicated eyebrow signalling that John pretended not to notice. The two adults slumped on the sofa, John letting out a sigh. Greg chuckled.

“I know, they can be a bit much sometimes.” Greg curled up to face John, John unconsciously mirroring his actions.

“Well, they’re certainly friendly. At least, Becky and Chris are.”

Greg sighed and nodded. “Anne’s a bit shy, around new people. But she’s a real rock, I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Though the situations were a little different, John knew what that was like, being fourteen years old and a ‘rock’ for a parent, his mother who’d taken refuge in him emotionally when she couldn’t cope with dealing with her drunkard of a husband. He’d been proud, in a way, that he could provide that support for her, but at the same time, he’d been a teenager, with issues of his own that he’d pushed down and pushed aside, never having time for himself, because his mother needed him. So much so that even when he was sold by his father his first thought was still of her, and how she would survive without him there.

“She’s your daughter.” He said, knowing he was treading on dangerous ground. “And barely a teenager.”

Greg scrubbed a hand over her face. “I know. I know. I have no idea how she ended up cooking, and practically raising her sisters. But she seems to like it, and it’s not like her grades are suffering, she’s doing fine in school because apparently she’s some kind of superhuman. I think it’s how she copes, sort of. With Marie and me not being around. So I can’t think of anything to do or say to her that I’m not sure wouldn’t do more harm than good.”

John took Greg’s hand, squeezing once. “Your kids love you. And they know you care about them. You’re a good father, Greg.”

Greg squeezed back. “I hope so, John. I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we had a nice chat with Chris' a few chapters back, and this chapter was a little Annie-centric. When will it be the littlest Lestrade's turn? Even I don't know.


	19. You Gotta Speak Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girls have an important meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little one, get some perspective from the kiddies. Back to the John and Greg stuff next chapter, not to worry!

As Greg and John talked, the Lestrade girls held a conference of their own on Annie’s bed, Chris’ and Annie sitting cross legged facing each other with Becky curled up in Annie’s lap.

“Okay, so what do you guys think of Doctor Watson? Chris’, you met him before, right?” 

Chris grinned widely. “Yeah, he was with Daddy when he came to pick me up on Saturday, he was really nice. I asked him to look after Daddy, and he said okay. We pinky promised.”

Annie nodded seriously, then looked down at the girl in her lap. “What about you, Becks? What do you think?”

Rebecca fiddled with the buttons on Annie’s shirt as she thought. “He looks sad. But he’s nice.” 

“Yeah!” Interrupted Chris. “Sometimes people are mean cos they’re sad, but he’s sad but he’s still nice.”

“He was even nice to you.” Rebecca added.

“Yeah, he let you talk about your boring elves and stuff.” Chris’ couldn’t resist the jibe.

Annie shoved at Chris’ shoulder, careful not to dislodge Becks from her lap. “It’s not boring!”

Chris’ fell theatrically back against the bed, laughing. Annie reached out a foot, nudging her gently.

“I’m serious, though. This is important. You remember Mum’s friend Tom who’s actually her boyfriend but it’s a secret even though Dad’s okay with it? I think Doctor Watson is kinda like that.”

Chris’ sat up quickly. “Really? That would be cool. Then he won’t be alone when he breaks up with Mummy.”

Annie nodded. “I mean, think about it. Dad took him to go pick you up, _and_ invited him over for dinner in a span of a few days. He doesn’t do that with his other friends.”

“Aunty Sally!” Rebecca piped up.

“Aunty Sally, yes.” Annie agreed. “But she’s different. I don’t really know how, but she is.”

“They look at each other differently.” Chris’ said with a sage expression. “It’s special.”  
Anne nodded, taking Chris’ word for it. She was the more emotionally aware one, out of the two of them. She picked up on things that just went over Annie’s head. Rebecca did too, but being older, Chris’ was better able to express the things she noticed.

“So that’s it, then. He’s good? We like him?” She asked. They both chorused an affirmative. “Okay, good. Bath time, Becky.”

“No!” Becky cried, shaking her head.

“Yes.” Annie said firmly, picking her up and putting her down on the floor. “Go. Now.”


	20. When I Lose Myself I Think of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the Blind Banker case, but it's not Sarah who's John's date...

A few weeks of relative peace ensued. Sherlock took a few private cases, and turned down even more. John and Greg met up once or twice a week, whenever they both had the time between Greg’s work and his family, and John’s running around after Sherlock. Sometimes one or more of the girls tagged along, but equally as often they were alone. John managed to find a job somehow, in the midst of chasing Sherlock around London and suffocating under the sheer enormity of the numerous crates of books being shipped into the flat.

Greg, meanwhile, was having a relatively quiet week. Dimmock was dealing with the murder du jour, and Greg was happy for the opportunity to catch up on his mountain of backlogged paperwork. He was even happier, however, to be distracted from said paperwork by a text from John.

Help. My new boss keeps flirting with me and Sherlock is trying to drown me with books. JW

Is he harrassing you? I could arrest him. GL

Greg groaned at himself. That sounded more like ‘jealous, posturing fourteen year old’ than the ‘concerned friend’ he’d been aiming for.

It’s fine, she’s quite nice, actually. JW

So you’re flirting back? GL

He was just digging himself into a deeper hole, now. Greg sighed, putting his phone down to tug reproachfully at his own hair, but the screen lit up with more texts from John.

That would just be unprofessional. JW

Not that she’s unprofessional, she is, really, I don’t think she’s doing it on purpose. JW

Reflexive flirting, you know. I do it too, if for entirely different reasons. JW  
Greg didn’t want to imagine. He changed the subject.

And the books? GL

That would be the case that Dimmock’s got, right? GL

Yes, that. We’re combing through several humongous boxes. It is the least fun thing I have ever done, and I have done a lot of very not fun things, such as being shot. JW

Right, sounds like you need a rescue. Tell Sherlock to bugger off, we’re going out for pints tonight. GL

My hero. JW

Hang on, Sherlock has an alternative idea. JW

The circus, apparently. He’s already got tickets. JW

What’s the catch? GL

Oh, something, I’m sure. Still, could be fun. JW

Ah, what the hell. Let’s do it. GL

*****

Greg grinned at John as they stood in line for the tickets. “Haven’t been to the circus in ages. Bit of a change from the usual Bond night.”

John nodded his agreement. “We’re quite lucky to catch it. Apparently it’s only in London for a single night.”

Greg hummed absently, his eyes fixed on the glowing red decorations around them. “A Chinese travelling circus. Should be interesting, then. Especially if Sherlock’s involved.”

John’s eye caught a familiar figure approaching them, and he sighed. “Yes, yes he is. You never said you were coming.”

Greg looked back at John, confused. “Yes I did, I- Oh, Sherlock. This is for the case, then.”

Sherlock nodded, eyes bright, practically vibrating with excitement. “A Chinese assassin who can shin up a rope, a circus from China, in one night only? It makes sense!”

John palmed his face. “Right, right, fine. Apparently I’m not allowed holidays.”

“You were at work the entire day today. That’s your holiday.” Sherlock sniffed.

Greg tried unsuccessfully to hide his amusement at the despairing look John directed at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was actually planning to ignore canon after ASiP, but then I had some ideas about TGG, and TRF, which meant I started paying attention to timeline, which meant looking at John's blog, and reading transcripts, and clicking quickly through the show, which led to so many little ideas I've basically resigned myself to following canon, at least up until TRF. Which means more writing, and subsequently more chapters for you guys. You're welcome? I guess? Seriously this fic was never meant to get so long and have four OCs. How did this happen?


	21. Take Me Out to the Circus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John can't catch a break. Greg can't stop looking at John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate TBB so much tbh the plot is so all over the place the deductions are faulty as fuck it's just...It's not a good episode guys. Why am I writing this.

Inside the circus, John glanced around, confused by the small size of the crowd.

“Sherlock, this isn’t a circus.It’s art.” John grimaced.

Sherlock, whose eyes had been fixed on the act, cut his eyes sideways towards John and scoffed. “Please, John. There’s no need to be such a plebeian.”

John scowled, aiming a kick at Sherlock’s ankles, but Sherlock danced away, deftly avoiding John’s feet. Greg took John’s elbow, pulling him further away from Sherlock. 

“Boys, please.” He sighed.

John turned to Greg, but before, he could say anything he was distracted by the arrhythmic sound of a tiny drum that signalled the beginning of the first act. He watched intently as the woman loaded the crossbow, and then theatrically dropped a feather into the bowl, causing the crossbow to fire. Greg jumped.

“Holy fuck!” He exclaimed. 

John nudged Greg with his elbow. “Saw that one coming a mile off, you baby. Hell, I bet Chris’ wouldn’t have been as shocked as you looked just then.”

Greg shrugged and elbowed John back, which seemed like a better response than admitting that he’d been watching John, rather than the show. Sherlock smirked at Greg over John’s head, and quickly explained what was going on as a man in a mask was strapped to the board. Greg shot him a surprised, but grateful look, then turned to John.

“So what happens to him if he doesn’t escape in time?”

John shrugged. “If it gets him in the abdomen, he’ll probably survive.” He grinned slightly. “There’s a doctor in the house, after all. If he punctures a lung that’s a lot riskier.”

The man escaped with a cry, just as the crossbow hit the board with a solid thunk. John rolled his eyes.

“That was mostly theatrics, though. He could’ve got out at any time.”

*****

The next act, the ‘Chinese Bird Spider’ (which was a kind of tarantula, Greg googled it), was interrupted halfway through by Sherlock, who came tumbling onstage though a curtain, landing on his back, followed quickly by a masked man who was advancing upon him in a very unfriendly manner. John sighed slightly.

“So much for ‘bit of a change from the usual Bond night’, this is just a Bond movie in real life.” He quipped, as both he and Greg charged forwards to help.

One relatively quick physical altercation later they were back at NSY. Dimmock’s eyes shot nearly into his hairline when he saw Greg. 

“What are you doing here? This is my case, shove off.”

“I’m not, I’m, uh. I just happened to be there.” Greg said awkwardly.

Dimmock paused to take in Greg, and John, and how close they were standing.

“Oh, my God.” He sighed, shifting his stance and looking Greg in the eye. “Look, I don’t really care. At least I know there’s at least one credible witness, then. I sent a couple of cars, the place was deserted. You sure they’re onto something?”

Greg nodded firmly. “Just listen to Sherlock, he’ll get you your murderer.”

Sherlock gave a faint, proud smile. Dimmock ran a hand through his hair.

“All right, I’ll send out the order. Lestrade, this had better be worth it.”


	22. I Watched You Disappear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets kidnapped. Greg tries to save the day, and gets kidnapped too.

Back at Baker Street, Greg lounged on the sofa with John as Sherlock leafed irritably through piles of evidence, trying to figure out the connection. Greg turned to John.

“He’s going to be at this for a while, isn’t he.”

John nodded, and tipped his head back until it was resting against the top of the sofa back. “For as long as he needs to. All night, if it comes to that. I don’t blame you if you want to go home, it’s going to be quite boring.”

Greg shook his head. “I’ll stay for dinner, at least. God, it’s late. I’m starving.”

“Stay, then. Can’t go rattling around your kitchen, you’ll wake the girls. I don’t think we have anything in, but we can get takeaway?”

Greg grinned. “Sounds great.”

*****

As John made the call to place their orders, Greg came up behind Sherlock, looking at the papers.

“John told me a bit about the case. These are Chinese numbers, right?”

Sherlock nodded, but otherwise barely acknowledged him. Greg picked up a printed out photograph, peering at it. 

“And every pair of numbers equals a word?” Greg guessed.

Sherlock’s head shot up. “John didn’t tell you that.” He deduced. “How did you know that?”

“These two have already been translated.” Greg showed Sherlock the paper. 

Sherlock leapt up from his seat. “Oh, stupid, how could I have missed that? She’d been translating it, it must have been staring me in the face!”

John came back into the room, a frown of confusion on his face. “Um, where are you going?” He asked Sherlock.

“Back to the museum. Oh, so obvious. And I missed it, John. I missed it!”

And with that he was out the door, gone in a swirl of his dark blue coat. John looked at Greg. 

“Tea?” He offered.

*****

They’d barely sat down with their mugs of tea when the doorbell rang. John gave a frown of surprise.

“Well, that was fast.” He got up. “You stay here, I’ll get it.”

John had only been gone for a bit when Greg heard several thuds. Reacting instinctively, he was on his feet in an instant, hurrying down the steps to find a man in a mask (yet another one- that was starting to get a bit old) holding John’s limp body in a bridal carry and turning towards the open door. He hadn’t yet seen Greg, and Greg attempted use that to his advantage, moving quickly and quietly, hoping to retain the element of surprise. No such luck. The man let go of John and whirled around, getting him in the side of the head with a pistol. His main thought as he went down was that he hoped John hadn’t broken anything when the man dropped him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're so domestic I love them


	23. It Ain't Me You're Looking For, Babe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's life is threatened. Greg is not happy. Greg's life is threatened. John is even more not happy. Where the hell is Sherlock?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note my incredible song lyric title

John blinked his way back to consciousness. He was tied to a chair in a dimly lit tunnel. He tested his bonds a little, but they failed to give even a little. Looking around him, his eyes widened when he saw Greg beside him, bound much like he was, and gagged as well. 

“You okay?” He whispered.

Greg nodded, then winced as pain lanced through his skull. John frowned, Greg likely had a concussion, especially if he was knocked out the same way John was.

“And you?” Greg tried to say, though it was heavily muffled. 

Considering how long he’d been out, John knew he was probably concussed too.

“I’m fine.” He said. 

Greg could tell this was bullshit, and conveyed this with a roll of his eyes. He regretted this a second later, and John’s frowned deepened as Greg turned green with the effort to throw up. He was distracted from his worry by the lady from the circus, who approached with measured, menacing steps, which, as it turned out, were wasted on John because she’d actually meant them for Sherlock Holmes. John tried to convince her of this fact, but she was already quite convinced by her evidence. Much like Sherlock Holmes, actually, except wrong. 

Greg observed the back and forth with a hazy sort of confusion until the lady (Shan, apparently) pulled a gun on John. At that point he began struggling, shouting indistinctly. Shan smirked at him, and pulled the trigger. John flinched, and Greg turned away, closed his eyes but was unable to erase the image of John, brains blown out, as they undoubtedly would be at point blank range, spattered all over the walls of the tramway.

It took an embarassingly long time for it to register in Greg’s mind that he had heard no gunshot, and he looked up, but before relief could touch him Shan was reloading the gun and pointing it back at John. 

“I don’t have any treasure.” John said shakily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I would prefer to make certain.” Shan replied. 

She gestured behind her, and one of her men pulled off the sheet that was covering a large object, revealing the crossbow from earlier that night. John grimaced. That would be a much slower, more painful death that being shot in the head. Easier for the mortician, though, he thought hysterically. He looked at Greg, seeing his own panic mirrored in his friend’s eyes. That panic increased tenfold when two men picked Greg up, along with the chair he was tied to, carrying him towards the crossbow. Shan was still talking, but he’d long since tuned her out, knowing it was useless. She believed that he was Sherlock, and that Sherlock had the treasure, neither of which was true. 

She stabbed the bag, and sand poured out, slowly lowering the weight into the bowl. When the weight reached the bowl the crossbow would fire. John thought back to what Greg had asked him, just that evening. What happens to him if he doesn’t escape in time? At this angle, it would definitely puncture a lung. John had never hated his medical degree so much before, knowing exactly what would happen as Greg’s lungs collapsed on themselves. He hated that he knew what it would sound like, the wheezing way he would struggle to breathe as he asphyxiated slowly.

“Okay, okay!” He yelled. “I have it, it’s in the museum. I hid it, in the museum.”

Shan’s hand caught the weight, swinging it to the side, away from the crossbow. John breathed a sigh of relief. 

“An appalling lie, John.” Sherlock’s voice echoed down the tramway. “That it worked says more about her intelligence than about yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I did a terrible job of glossing over certain bits. But honestly, if I'd written it the dialogue would have come nearly verbatim from the show, and it's not really that fun or interesting or worth your time, so hopefully you won't mind. (I hope there aren't any TBB lovers who are offended by how hard I'm slamming the episode, but...honestly...)


	24. Hit Me Baby One More Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are a little battered, but they'll be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was...in a bit of a state when I wrote this. Still am, so I don't know if it affected my writing. I'll come back and look at it in the morning.

Shan reacted quickly, pointing her pistol towards the sound of the voice, although her gun wavered as Sherlock seemed to slip deftly in and out of the shadows. 

“You are Mister Holmes?” She called, catching on quickly.

“I did try to tell you.” John quipped. 

“I would advise you not to fire that gun, General.” Sherlock called. “That’s a semi-automatic. If you fire it, the bullet will travel at over a thousand metres per second.”

Shan didn’t move. “Well?” 

“Well, the radius curvature of these walls is nearly four metres. If you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone. Might even hit you.”

As he spoke, Sherlock darted through the darkness, never missing a beat, taking out a minion as he went. As Shan squinted, trying to find him, he ran forwards, kicking over the burning dustbin that illuminated the tunnel. With the light source gone, she lost him, until he reappeared behind her, knocking her out. Sherlock straightened up, dusting himself off. 

“Well, that was surprisingly easy. Lucky, I suppose, that you lied to her, John, or I’d have had to go for Lestrade first and this whole thing would have been much more-”

He was cut off as a man, the one who’d been the ‘Chinese Bird Spider’ earlier appeared behind him, looping a length of red cloth around his neck and pulled it taut. They struggled for several minutes as John and Greg watched helplessly, until Sherlock passed out. The man took out a knife, advancing upon Greg, but, hearing sirens in the distance, abandoned that plan, hurrying over to Shan. He managed to revive her, and together they ran out of the tunnel and out of sight. John struggled a bit, looked between Greg in his chair and Sherlock on the floor, then up at the blue lights flashing against the sky.

“Hope those are for us.” He remarked.

*****

Fortunately it seemed that Sherlock had had the foresight to call Dimmock, and the police cars were, in fact, for them. Half an hour later Sherlock, Greg and John were sitting side by side in the back of an ambulance, after each of them had insisted he was fine while simultaneously insisting that the other two be sent to A&E. Acknowledging the obvious hypocrisy in that, they came to the compromise that everyone would get checked over by the paramedics, and no one would go to A&E unless something was terribly wrong. John and Greg were both concussed, John had a couple of bruised ribs, and Sherlock was in the process of swelling, and would probably be unable to speak by morning. Nevertheless, there wasn’t anything to warrant a trip to emergency, and so they were all cleared to go home.

“You’re staying at Baker Street tonight.” Sherlock instructed Greg croakily.

John was in the process of dropping off on Greg’s shoulder, but he managed to nod his sleepy agreement. “Got to wake you up every two hours.” He mumbled. “Who’ll do that if you go home, Annie? She’s got school tomorrow.”

“Marie?” Greg suggested.

John shook his head. “She’s staying the night at Tom’s.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood, hauling the two up by their elbows. “You can have your stupidly domestic conversation at home.” He rasped. He then turned away, signalling to Dimmock that he needed help piling the two into a taxi.


	25. Baby Don't Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Greg share a bed. It's mostly uneventful.

There was some disagreement over the sleeping arrangements. Greg had felt that he ought to take the sofa, and Sherlock and John take their respective beds, as he was the intruder in this case. John thought that Greg should take Sherlock’s bed and Sherlock take the sofa since really, it was Sherlock’s fault for having run off without them. In the end, Sherlock won out because he had the most logical solution. Since they were both concussed and would need to be woken every two hours, they would share Sherlock’s bed, and Sherlock would take the sofa. Furthermore, Sherlock explained, it made sense for them all to be on the same floor because he didn’t much like the idea of going up and down the stairs while half asleep several times in one night. Most of this argument was written out, as halfway through the discussion Sherlock’s voice gave out on him. 

So John and Greg piled into Sherlock’s bed while Sherlock took a shower (they weren’t allowed to shower, either, Sherlock had said they might fall and hit their heads, and he’d rather deal with dirty sheets than a blood-covered bathroom. John knew this was a lie, as Sherlock had bloodied the bathroom before on purpose, but he was too tired to press the issue).

“Who knew he was such a mother hen?” John muttered sleepily across the bed. Greg only snuffled incomprehensibly and fell back asleep.

*****

John hauled himself up late the next morning. He looked to his left, where Greg was still fast asleep, clutching a pillow to his chest. He looked almost too cute to wake.

John shook Greg’s shoulder gently. “Greg.” He murmured. “Gotta wake up or your sleep schedule is gonna be fucked for a week.”

Greg grumbled at subsonic volume, blinking awake slowly. A tiny frown appeared between his eyebrows, and then he jerked suddenly awake.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed. “I have to drive the girls to school, they’re going to be so late, oh crap.”

Sherlock strolled calmly into the room, grabbing Greg’s left foot and passing him the post-it note he’d attached to the sole.

_’I texted Donovan, she’s driving your children to their respective schools. She says that now you two are even for ‘the Dr Watson thing’, and that she hopes you are feeling better.’_

Greg read the note, and sank back onto the bed in relief. “God bless Sally Donovan.” He muttered.

John rolled out of bed and got to his feet. “I’m starving. I think Mrs Hudson might have gotten our food for us last night while we were being kidnapped, I’ll go check.”

Greg grimaced. “Takeaway for breakfast?”

John shrugged. “It’s what’s available.”

“Spoken like a true bachelor. “ Greg declared as he sat up. “You do that, then. I need a shower.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that you say? John and Greg are boring bed-sharers? Well let me tell you, concussions are not sexy.


	26. It's About to Explode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John stays the night at Greg's. Again, it's uneventful, until it's not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting so attached to this adorable little family I love them a lot.

Sherlock’s got a head in the fridge. JW

Thought he was in Belarus. GL

Apparently it was boring, not worth his time. JW

He’s in a strop. JW

Now he’s ragging on my blog. JW

If I storm out, can I kip on your couch? JW

That bad, huh? GL

Sure you can. GL

I’ll tell Annie to set you a place. GL

Bless you. JW

*****

John was awakened early the next morning by the girls in the kitchen getting their breakfast. He sat up, groaning as he felt his back click audibly.

“Morning Annie, Chris’. Where’s ‘Becca?” He mumbled. 

“Morning Uncle John. Becks is still sleeping, I’ll get her up in a bit. How do you like your eggs?” Annie was still in a nightie and slippers, her wild brown hair tied away from her face in a messy bun. Chris’ had dozed off at the kitchen table, and responded only with and almost inaudible mumble and a half-wave.

“Um, I’ll have whatever everyone else is having?” 

Annie laughed slightly. “Chris’ like sunny side up. Dad has an omelette, Mum prefers scrambled. Becky has cereal.”

John shuffled into the kitchen. “Then scrambled would be lovely, thank you.” He washed his hands and face, then turned to smile at her.

Now that John was more awake, Anne became aware that she was mostly undressed in the presence of a grown man, and she flushed, fiddling with her glasses in an attempt to cover her breasts with her elbows.

“I’m, um. Going to go change first.” She said awkwardly. John nodded, picking up the spatula on the kitchen counter. 

“I can help get started on the eggs.” He offered. “Who should I do first?”

“Um, do your own. And Mum’s together, I suppose. She takes two, but she likes it really runny, like the kind that’s still wet on the inside.”

John nodded, getting the eggs from the fridge as Annie retreated quickly. He was nearly done with his and Marie’s eggs when Greg came padding out into the kitchen in a t-shirt and boxers. He kissed the top of his daughter’s head.

“Mornin’, babe.” He said affectionately, voice still rough with sleep. He glanced over at the pan. “Morning, John. Looks good. Marie will be out in a bit, she’s getting dressed. You sleep okay?”

John shrugged. “I think I’m getting a bit old for kipping on the sofa, honestly. But seriously, thanks for letting me stay.”

“It’s no problem.” Greg wandered over to the sofa, turning to the news. He left it on in the background as the Lestrade family went about their morning routine. Marie emerged next, followed by a now-dressed Annie carrying a limp Rebecca.She dumped the seven-year old in the chair next to Chris’, and Rebecca just slumped sideways and continued sleeping on her sister’s shoulder. John had started the sunny-side ups, and Annie took the spatula from John with a grateful smile. John had just started digging into his breakfast when Greg called his name with a rather panicked note to his voice.

“John!” He said, pointing to the television.

‘House destroyed on Baker St.’, it read. John startled to his feet.

“Oh, God. Sherlock will be right in the middle of it, no doubt.” He muttered. “I’ve got to go.”

Greg got up from the sofa. “I’ll drive you there, it’ll be faster. Marie, you can get them to school, right? Just give me two minutes to get dressed, we can go right away.”

Marie gave him a thumbs up, and he was off, as John put on his shoes and then his jacket, his feet tapping anxiously.


	27. Baby You're a Firework

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is kidnapped. Again.

John and Greg arrived at Baker Street to find Sherlock unharmed, but from there they were thrown into their most mentally and emotionally gruelling case so far. Moriarty surfaced, with his little games for Sherlock, and as Sherlock played John was sent running around London solving a different case for Mycroft. By the fourth pip, John needed a break.

They were waiting for the fifth pip, John typing up the case so far as Sherlock curled up in his chair, watching telly. Both of them were in their coats, shivering as the cold winter air swept through the open windows. 

“We’re going to have to get those replaced soon.” John muttered. Sherlock grunted, not really paying attention. John stood, closing his laptop.

“I’m going to Greg’s. Won’t be back for dinner. You should eat something, there’s leftover risotto in the fridge.”

“You’re going to end up living with Lestrade, at this rate. Don’t know how you’ll manage that, his apartment is positively stuffed with offspring.” Sherlock muttered. He ignored the second half of what John said.

John clapped him on the shoulder. “Careful there. You almost sound jealous. And three’s not that many. Perfectly average, actually.”

Sherlock scowled. “I’m not jealous. And it’s not actually possible to achieve an average number of children without dismembering one of them.”

John laughed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you.”

Sherlock hummed and went back to ignoring John. John, too used to this to get offended, turned and jogged down the steps. He’d barely taken five steps before a man snuck up behind him, jabbing him with a syringe and depressing the plunger. John dropped like a rock, and was bundled quickly into a discreet black car.

*****

Greg was getting ready for bed when he got a call from Sally.

“Greg? You remember how you told me to monitor the Freak’s blog so we can have some idea of what he’s up to?”

“Yeah?” He prompted. 

“Got a new comment, from him. Found.The Bruce-Partington plans. Please collect. The Pool. Midnight.”

“Oh, God. That’s in half an hour. John told me a bit about the plans, is he seriously planning to sell government secrets to a serial killer?”

“He’s a reckless idiot. Of course he’s going to.” Sally said matter-of-factly. “So, The Pool? Any idea where that might be?”

Greg nodded before realising that Sally couldn’t see him. Go through the archives, look for a Carl Powers case, ruled as accidental drowning. Should be about twenty-five years ago. I’ll get a car, come pick you up.”

*****

As he was getting redressed, Greg called Sherlock’s phone. It was off. He tried John next. It rang out Lastly, he called Mrs Hudson.

“Hi, Mrs Hudson? It’s Greg. I’m so sorry for bothering you, I know it’s late. But are John and Sherlock in?”

“I’m sorry dear, I don’t think so. I heard Sherlock dashing off about ten minutes ago, so you just missed him.”

“Alright, thanks a lot, Mrs Hudson. I’ll let you rest now.” Greg put down the phone, cursing.

*****

“So, the Freak’s in there. And Doctor Watson too?”

Greg huffed, shaking his head. “Probably. He’s always where Sherlock is, isn’t he?”

“Except for when he’s where you are.” Sally pointed out slyly. 

“Well, he’s not here now, is he?” Greg shouted, his worry getting the better of him.

“They’ll be all right.” Sally said softly, looking at him earnestly. 

Greg nodded, sighing. “I hope so.”

They screeched to a halt on the road as near to the pool as they could get, and got out of the police car just in time to see the whole building explode into flames.

“Fuck.” Greg muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love cliffhangers, don't you? ^_^ Maybe I should take a break from posting tomorrow. Or forever. Yeah, that's it. Show's over, guys. John's dead, the end. Go home. :-P


	28. The World Will Continue to Spin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one's died yet. Everyone's really happy about this.

Moriarty ended his phone call, and walked away. The laser sights went out one by one, and John and Sherlock were left alone in the pool. John got to his feet, smiling at Sherlock, breathless with relief. Then they were running and laughing, out of the pool, high on the feeling of having escaped death. When they were twenty paces away John felt a familiar shift in the air, and he grabbed Sherlock by the collar, tugging him down until they were both flat on the ground. The heat from the deflagration rolled over them, and once it passed they both sat up, turning to look at the burning building. Sherlock was the first to crack, lying back down against the tarmac as he burst into peals of laughter, John following suit seconds later.

Sherlock rolled his head to the side, looking first at John, then beyond him, to where the lights from a police car were flashing, barely visible amidst the flames. He sat up. 

“That’ll be Lestrade, I expect.”  
John sat up too, then got to his feet. “God.” He muttered as he began to come down from his adrenaline high. “We’d better tell him we’re not dead.”

*****

“Sally, call the fire brigade. I’ll get the ambulance.” Greg’s voice was steady, though he felt like he was cracking inside, fear gnawing at him. All his instincts were screaming at him to just run into the building, to find John, get him out, and it was only because of years of experience that could stay where he was, and do the sensible thing, do what needed to be done.

As he ended the call he saw two figures come around the side of the building. He squinted, trying to make out their silhouettes against the light on the conflagration. The shorter of the two figures waved an arm, shouting his name, and then began running towards him. Greg met him in the middle, gripping John by the upper arms as he scanned the man from head to toe.

“Are you all right? What happened?” He asked breathlessly.

John beamed at him. “Just dandy, thanks. Completely unharmed.”

John pulled him into a rib-crushing hug, and Greg returned it, just as tight, hands fisting in the back of John’s jacket. They finally let go when they were both gasping for air, though they kept their arms around each other. Greg rested one palm against John’s cheek.

“I’m glad you haven’t been exploded.” He murmured.

John laughed. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Sherlock, who had followed at a more dignified pace, came up behind John. He rolled his eyes and made a disgusted noise. “Just kiss him.”

John, still a little bit high, just smiled wider. “I wouldn’t mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More cliffhanger. Mainly because I haven't decided if Greg is going to kiss him or not.


	29. I'm Ready to Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don't kiss. It's surprisingly not terrible.

Greg paused, looking at John as if to ascertain the sincerity of his statement, and then began laughing. John began frowning, and Greg shook his head, catching his breath.

“No, no, it’s not that. Just- you couldn’t have waited a week?”

A little crease appeared between John’s eyebrows. “What happens in a week?”

“Well. Assuming there isn’t some kind of stupid bureaucratic delay, in a week I will be officially divorced. And then-” Greg trailed off, gathering his thoughts.

“And then?” John prompted, hope blooming in his stomach.

“And then, I was planning to ask you if you were still interested. In...something. I mean, we’ve been spending a lot of time together, and that means a lot to me, because when you’re around I feel like…” Greg trailed off, making a sound of frustration. “You know, I was supposed to have an extra week to plan this speech.”

John grinned. “You can skip the speech, I don’t mind. Get straight to the kissing.”

Greg’s eyes widened. “Um. You mean now?”

“When else?” John raised his eyebrows. “Next week?”

“Well, yes, actually.” Greg admitted. “I was thinking, because this is the proper thing, you know? It’s important enough to do correctly, and I don’t want anything to be in the way, any more than there has to be.”

John smiled, then laughed. “Ever the romantic.” He said fondly. His hands slipped down to take Greg’s, squeezing them. “Alright, if you like. Next week.”

Greg pulled John into a hug. “Thank you for indulging my sentimental nonsense.” He murmured. He turned his head to rest his lips against John’s temple. “You smell of smoke.”

John sighed. “I know. I’m gonna have to take a shower when I get back. And then murder Sherlock for getting me kidnapped again. Actually, flip that order. Yeah, that makes more sense.” 

Greg chuckled into John’s hair. “You can’t, I need him to give his statement tomorrow morning.”

John sighed deeper. “We’ll be there.” He leaned back, smiling up at Greg until his eyes crinkled at the corners. “All right, I think you need to get some sleep. So do I, honestly. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Greg nodded. “Tomorrow.” He turned and jogged away to the police car, where Sally was waiting with her arms crossed. Once he was close enough, she raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him. Greg only smiled widely at her, and got into the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy. How was that? Not what you were expecting?


	30. We're a Part, Not Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They kiss! Greg manages to be not oblivious for once.

As of today, I am officially divorced. GL

Congratulations. Or condolences? I’m not sure. JW

You bet your arse it’s congratulations. When do you get off work? GL

Sooner than you. I’ll come pick you up? JW

Sure. GL

John popped his head into Greg’s office at five thirty, smiling apologetically. “Hi, I know I’m early. I just ended late, so I couldn’t go back to my flat, or I’d be late. Figured it was better to be early.”

Greg stood, coming around the desk to be closer to John. “No, no, early’s fine! Good.” In truth, he’d barely gotten anything done all day, too excited about seeing John. He stopped just in front of John, beaming at him. John cocked an eyebrow.

“Is this where I get a speech?”

Greg’s eyes widened. “You said I could skip the speech.”

John laughed at the look on Greg’s face. “You’d better get to the kissing, then.” He took Greg by his lapels, pulling him closer until he had to go cross-eyed to look him in the eye. “Go on.”

Greg closed the miniscule distance between them, pressing his lips to John’s. They weren’t soft and perfect, in fact John’s lips were slightly chapped, and Greg could feel the dry skin scraping at him. That only served to make the experience better, more realistic. More _John_. 

The kiss remained chaste, both conscious that someone could walk in at any time, and eventually John pulled away. 

“You need to finish up your work, yeah? I can just wait, I promise not to distract you.”

Greg chuckled, shaking his head. “That was a lost cause before you came in here. I think I’ll knock off early. We’re not really busy, I don’t think anyone will mind. One of the perks of usually being an incurable workaholic.”

“Oh, am I curing you, then?” John asked with a grin.

Greg just snorted. “You’re more like a bad influence.”

“Ouch.” John said, without inflection. “You wound me.”

Greg took John’s hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

He began walking. John didn’t move. “You’re just going to walk through your workplace holding my hand?”

Greg shrugged. “Most of them already assume we’re dating already, what with how often you come get me from work. Did you not want to?”

John shook his head. “It just seems like a big commitment. It’s a bit like a declaration, isn’t it? And this is a bit new. What happens if it just doesn’t work out, or you decide I’m not worth the effort?”

Greg turned, taking John’s other hand in his. “John. I _know_ you’re worth the effort. And I know you’re worth enough that I want everyone to know that. That you’re worth it, to me. So yeah, it is kinda like a declaration. A declaration of intent, to try. Because I know it’ll be tough, and we’ve both got issues, but we’ll work through it. Because to me, there is no other option. Is that alright with you?”

John smiled faintly. “Seems you managed a speech after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh he's such a sweetheart


	31. For All Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night. They have dinner. They sort-of have an important conversation. Kinda.

Hand in hand, they walked out of NSY. There probably was some sort of reaction from Greg’s colleagues, but he barely noticed them, beyond Sally giving him a discreet thumbs-up. John smiled as they stepped out into a lovely spring evening. 

“We should go somewhere nice, to celebrate.” John suggested. 

“That’s a good idea. Got any ideas? If not, Sally told me about a place this guy took her to, Japanese-Italian fusion. Sounds weird, I know, but she says it was good. Guy was awful, but she says the food made up for it.”

John raised his eyebrows. “A ringing endorsement.”

Greg nodded, chuckling. “You don’t even know. Normally when the guy turns out to be awful she just walks out. She really doesn’t take any nonsense.”

“Well, I’m game. Where is it?”

Greg tugged John towards the carpark. “A bit far. I’ll drive us.”

*****

Dinner felt at once completely different from and exactly the same as all the dinners they’d shared before. On the surface it was much the same. They talked about football, cases, Greg’s family, Sherlock, the terrible economy. Normal, boring stuff, but there was that sense of something more that remained underneath it all. A sense of excitement, a shared understanding.Beneath the table, John’s foot nudged against Greg’s. After dinner they did what they could to drag out the evening, walking slowly as they could towards where Greg had parked the car.

“D’you want to come over for a coffee?” Greg suggested as they got into the car. “I’ve got to be home tonight, because obviously Marie’s out shagging Tom blind, so I’ve got to get the girls tomorrow. She says it’s only fair, because she’s been waiting for this moment for months longer than I have. True, I suppose, but no reason you can’t come over.”

John’s eyes widened, perfectly aware of the implications of asking someone up for ‘a coffee’ after a date. “Um, Greg, I-” He began haltingly.

Greg noticed John’s expression, shaking his head quickly. “Just coffee, really. I’ll drive you home after, or you can kip on the couch, you can borrow my pyjamas.”

John nodded. “Alright, then.” He said softly. He sat back, clicking his seat belt into place, then looked back at Greg. “I’m sorry.” He added awkwardly. 

Greg manoeuvred them onto the road, then glanced at John. “Nothing to be sorry about, John. It’s fine. I meant what I said, you know. I’m fine with anything as long as I have you.” 

“You have me, Greg.” John said in a quiet voice. “You have me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're so awkward what is this


	32. There's Something Eating at Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg does a dumb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's past midnight and I typed this out one-handed by torchlight to get this out to you. So it's short. But hey, I posted on time. Sorta. It's not tomorrow until I go to sleep, that's the rule. That I just made up. But I'm sticking by it.

John did end up borrowing Greg’s pyjamas, though he didn’t kip on the couch. They sat up on the bed, talking until they fell asleep like boys at a sleepover, all awkward angles on top of the covers, their feet tangling together in the middle. John dozed like that for little more than an hour before his shoulder began protesting too loudly for him to remain asleep. Still only half conscious, he arranged a comatose Greg into a more comfortable position, tucking him in and climbing in to lie next to him, not quite touching but close enough to feel the warmth of his body down John’s left side. He quickly fell back to sleep, lulled by the sound of Greg’s quiet breathing. 

Greg woke John the next morning with sour, morning-breath kisses that John returned with sleepy enthusiasm, tugging Greg on top of him to thread his hands through Greg’s stiff bed-hair. Greg bracketed John’s hips with his knees, grinding down against him in a fit of excitement. That woke John up properly, and he froze, bolting upright. His forehead smacked into Greg’s, and Greg reeled back, clutching his head. 

“God, I’m sorry. You all right, Greg?” John asked, rubbing at his own forehead.

Greg nodded. “I think a simple ‘Stop’ will suffice next time, thank you.”

John gave a low chuckle. “That’s not always the case, in my experience.”

Greg’s face fell. “I am sorry, John. I shouldn’t have done that, I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

John shrugged. “Yeah, alright.” Then he grimaced. “We’re going to have to have a Talk, aren’t we.” He sighed.

Greg nodded. “Yeah, I think we are.”

John fell back against the bed. “I hate talking. I’m crap at it.”

“I know, so am I.” Greg agreed. “But we do have to.”

John scoffed loudly. “No you’re not. You pull stupidly romantic speeches out of your arse just whenever, I can’t even begin to think about talking about...feelings things, without breaking down.”

Greg patted John’s calf. “Well you don’t have to do it right now, at least. We need to get up. Breakfast. Driving. And we can talk whenever you’re ready.”

John sat up, swinging his legs out of bed. “I’ll never be ‘ready’, I’ll just decide at some point to force myself to just do it.” He muttered, somewhat sourly.

Greg only shrugged. “That’s basically what it means. ‘Ready’ is just faster to say.”


	33. I Think We're Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John shares a bit about what happened after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're filling in the gaps! This is exciting wow

There wasn’t time for a Talk over the next few days, or even a regular talk. They texted back and forth, but John was kept busy. On top of his work, Sherlock seemed to think he’d sniffed out a lead on where Moriarty might be, and so he had John running all around London, until eventually he had to admit that it wasn’t getting anywhere. This, naturally, resulted in a great deal of sulking. John unceremoniously kicked him out of the flat, telling him to go bother Molly for some body parts to play with. He left, looking highly insulted, and John texted Greg triumphantly.

Given His Highness the boot for the afternoon. You free? JW

God, yes. Rebecca and Christine are being right little monsters. GL

Abandoning your kids? Tsk tsk. JW

I’m not! Marie’s with them. GL

I love my children. GL

They can just get a bit much. GL

You’d get it if you had kids. GL

I do get it, Greg. I was just joking. JW  
Right. Sorry, these kids really have got me wound. GL

Sounds like you need a breather. JW

Come over. It’s nice and quiet, my kid’s out. JW

Ha! He won’t be happy if he hears you called him that. GL

Shut up and get over here. I miss you. JW

*****

Half and hour, Greg was quite happily situated on the sofa at Baker Street, a cold beer in his hand and John’s head in his lap. John stared absently up at Greg’s nostrils, mind whirring as he tried to formulate his thoughts into something that made sense. Greg looked down at him, noting his expression.

“What is it?” He asked worriedly.

John took a deep breath. “We need to have...a talk. And I’m not entirely sure what to say, so I’m going to just say it. And it’ll probably be pretty rambly but just- let me get it out. Alright?”

Greg nodded seriously, setting his beer down. “I’m listening.”

“Right.” John stared at the ceiling as he spoke. “Um. This isn’t, I suppose, directly relevant. I just kinda wanted to...provide a bit of context, beyond what you already know. So...I told you quite a bit, when we were...you know. So I’ll just pick up with what happened after that. I went back to school, of course, took my ‘A’ levels. Failed horribly. It was a bad couple of years. Harry wasn’t living with us, but Mum tried to keep contact with her, so she had a phone call with us once a week. Blind drunk every time. I blamed myself for that, for not being able to be there. Stupid of me, in hindsight. She’d already faffed off when I got sold, so it’s not like I could’ve done much for her either way.”

Greg stroked John’s hair, keeping quiet. He’d guessed some of this stuff from things John had said over the last couple of months. Other things were news to him. Either way, he just remained silent and let John get it out.


	34. I Can Hear the Echoes of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you'd probably expect, John has a crappy time of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early post today bc Easter.

John glanced briefly at Greg. “I guess it was just the shock of coming back and everything was so...different. I’m not even slightly ashamed to admit, I’d fantasised about him dying. Of course I’d always thought, then everything would be fine, right? Seeing as he was the source of all our problems. ‘Course, it’s never that perfect. ‘Cause even when he was gone, he wasn’t really gone, you know? He hung around, like a ghost, in Mum’s nightmares, in mine, in Harry’s drinking.”  
John rolled over, facing outwards towards the empty room. “I had a lot of nightmares. Nearly every night. Sometimes it was Dad, sometimes it was...that place, but basically the upshot of this was that I was hardly ever awake in school. Either I’d had a nightmare and was unable to get back to sleep, or I’d been too afraid to get to sleep in the first place. I got prescribed meds, of course, but I reacted badly to a lot of them. They’d stop the nightmares, but I’d still be groggy in the mornings, and my attention span would be even worse than usual. And then there was this one…”

_It had been rather tame as nightmares go, but it was vivid. He was five, his Daddy still the doting father John vaguely remembered him being, once upon a time. John could see his big round face approaching, his large, strong hands wrapping around John’s ribs and swinging him up into his father’s arms._

_“Hey, little man. Were you a good boy at school today?”_

_John nodded, giggling. Then suddenly his father’s grip around him tightened, and he was flying through the air, landing hard on the ground. His father seemed to grow, becoming a giant, with a red, angry face. John scrambled to his feet and began running. He could hear the long strides of his father just behind him, always at his heels, just about to catch him._

_‘I’m dreaming,’ he realised. He could feel two things at once, his body lying still in bed and his dream-body moving, legs pumping as he tried to get away. He tried desperately to open his eyes, but his body remained deathly still, ignoring all commands his mind tried to scream at it._

Greg grimaced. “That sounds awful.” He said, speaking up for the first time since John began talking. 

John nodded. “So those meds really were a no-go. But the others weren’t that great either, I went through a bunch of different kinds before we managed to hit on one that worked for me. But by then I was already way behind in school. The teachers were understanding, obviously, they all knew about me. I hated it, how they looked at me. Then somehow, it got out, and suddenly it wasn’t just the staff, it was literally everybody, staring at me as I walked past and whispering to their friends. There were some boys who thought they could be funny, asking me what it was like, if I liked it, offering to...basically they said some very lewd, awful, stupid things. But they stopped after I broke one boy’s arm. Didn’t even get in trouble for it, so I suppose there were some advantages to their pity.”

Greg had to remove his hands from John’s hair, clenching it into a fist. He could almost physically feel the anger bubbling in his stomach. John reached up, laying a hand over Greg’s fist.

“It was a long time ago.” He said softly.

“So.” Greg said tentatively. “How did you get from there to becoming a doctor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, listen to [Haunted](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lR3SH-w-Cf0) by Maya Kern, it's the perfect song for these chapters and the few that are to come.


	35. This Too Shall Pass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young John gets it together, only he doesn't really, so it all goes to shit again. Then he gets it together again. Kinda.

John chuckled softly. “With a great deal of hard work.”

“I can imagine.” Greg murmured, half to himself.

John shook his head. “Doubt you can, actually. It was grueling. I transferred to a different school, where nobody knew about anything. I had kind of a baby face, so there weren’t that many who even suspected that I wasn’t the same age as they were. Maybe they ought to have suspected, I was quite a bit more mature than they were, but I mostly kept to myself so I suppose they had no way to know. Yeah, so anyway, there I was just another kid, a bit quiet but mostly normal. So i wasn’t cut any slack, which was good. My teachers pushed me as hard as they would any other student, and I responded well to that.”

“So that was it? You did nothing but study?”

“Kinda, yeah. I joined rugby because I was told not having an extracurricular wouldn’t look good on my uni application. Picked rugby because it was a good way to work off pent up aggression, which I had a lot of. But I just went, played, showered, and went home to study some more. No hanging out afterwards, or anything. I suppose it was partly because studying distracted me from my thoughts. I was mostly sleeping through the nights by then, so if I filled my days by losing myself in studying I didn’t have to think about anything else.”

Greg raised his eyebrows. “Sounds unsustainable.”

John nodded. “It was, but I didn’t crash until I’d finished doing incredibly for my ‘A’ Levels. Got accepted into med school pretty easily, but then there was a whole load of time to just...brood. I got a job, of course, but it’s not quite the same as studying. Waiting tables doesn’t exactly take up much brainpower, plus the way the customers talked to me sometimes reminded me of...stuff. Sometimes I got flashbacks and I’d drop stuff, I got fired a bunch of times over that. So I was in a pretty dark place, I felt like I’d never become a functional member of society, it was basically just...not good. So my decision was kind of half-suicidal and half just wanting to get away. From all the reminders.”

Greg stroked his hand through John’s short, militaristic hair. “I’m surprised you passed the psych eval.”

John scoffed. “Piece of cake, honestly. Basically involved a lot of lying about how you feel.”

“And you’re good at that? Faking emotion?”

John rolled over again, looking up at Greg. His clear grey eyes seemed to pierce straight through Greg. “I don’t do that with you. I wouldn’t. Promise.”

Greg’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Picked up some things from Sherlock, huh?”  
John shrugged. “I just know you.”

Greg’s smile grew, then dropped as he remembered the subject at hand. “So, how did you get out of that?”

“Slowly.” John said simply. “And with the help of a very good therapist. But anyway, in summary. Got into med school, got into the army, which paid for med school. Then I went to army. Kinda gone way off topic, though, I warned you I’d do that. I was going to talk about sex. And relationships, all that stuff.”

“And...did you?” Greg asked cautiously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang tight, guys, we're getting to some really interesting bits!


	36. It Went a Little Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John talks about his first boyfriend.

John nodded. “My second go around at my ‘A’ Levels, I met this boy at the library. He was about eighteen? So younger than me, but not that young. He was doing his ‘A’s too, but he wasn’t from school. We met in the library, we studied together. He expressed interest in me, but I told him, after the exams were over, and he seemed satisfied with that. So we started dating after the exams. I did like him, he was...nice. Nice, and ordinary, and he seemed to like me. I didn’t really go for girls- not that I don’t like girls, but I hadn’t actually spoken to a girl who wasn’t Sam for years, I figured, stick to what you know. Like I said, he was younger than me, and I liked that too, I felt like that gave me a certain amount of...power, I suppose. I didn’t really get the concept of equal relationships, even before all that stuff happened, and after it was over, I never saw any. Not between my Dad and my mum, certainly. Outside of romantic relationships, too. Mum called Harry every week, and spent the time doing anything she could, saying anything she thought Harry would want to hear, to keep her on the phone longer while Harry, far away and off her face, did whatever she bloody well liked, and if she felt that she was being nagged, or anything like that, she’d hang up, never mind that Mum was still mid-sentence.”

“Your poor Mum. One thing after another.” Greg murmured.

John nodded. “Yet I can’t but feel like I can’t blame Harry. She and I, we’re the same, really. We both ran away. I went to army, she got drunk. Is it really that different?”

“Yes.” Greg said firmly. “You actually did something with yourself. You were helping people. Still do, what with your running about with Sherlock.”

John chuckled. “Dunno about that part, I’m just there to inflate his ego.”

Greg shook his head. “You’ve never seen him when you’re not around. Bloody awful. Scotland Yard would be devastated if you stopped coming on cases, we’ve come to rely on you as a buffer.”

“Alright, alright.” John laughed. “I get it. So anyway, back to my ex-boyfriend. Lewis. I basically figured, if someone’s gonna be in charge, it sure as hell is going to be me. So we dated, and he was...nice. Good kisser. Wanted more, of course, but I was pretty nervous about that. He wore me down after a few months. It went badly. By which I mean I panicked and ran, leaving all my stuff behind, then ignored all his calls or texts and told my mum to tell him I wasn’t home every time he came over. Eventually he gave up. Not my finest moment.”

Greg snickered. “I’m sorry, I know it isn’t really funny, but it’s just-” He waved a hand. “Such a fifteen year-old way to break up with someone.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” John muttered. “See if I tell you what happens next.”

“No, no.” Greg took John’s hand, squeezing it. “Tell me.” 

John rolled his eyes at Greg, and continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greg's being clever. John uses humour in grim situations like 99% of the time, so he turns it back on John, knowing he'll likely respond well to it, and this helps to keep John grounded instead of losing himself in his dark past.


	37. I'd Lost the Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of John's sexual history. It's not much, or quite extensive, depending on how you look at it.

“So that really put me off dating for a while, and in fact I haven’t dated a man since then. Until you, obviously.”

“So I’m special, am I?” Greg joked.

“Yes, yes you are.” John replied, smiling up at Greg with a fond look in his eyes. Greg blinked, somewhat overcome. John broke the moment with a light chuckle. “Stop being mushy, I’m trying to talk.”

Greg tweaked John’s ear playfully. “I’ll be as mushy as I like, thank you, and you can just try and stop me.” He snickered. “But by all means. Talk.”

“So med school was next, and I got pretty okay with sex, with women anyway, around that time. Had a fair amount of it, if I’m perfectly honest. Relationships, though, still escaped me a bit. I tried, but I never got far, there’s always that thing hanging between us, this giant secret that I had. First year I was this jumpy, incredibly awkward person who didn’t really have that many friends, but by third year I was actually pretty comfortable, I’d gotten better at being normal around people. I liked that, the feeling of being seen by people, interacting with them and having them see me as nothing out of the ordinary. It felt like maybe I actually could be just a regular person. Part of the reason I enjoyed casual sex, it was just an exhilarating feeling, going to clubs and stuff and chatting people up. Every time I brought someone back to my dorm it felt like a victory, having successfully tricked another person into thinking I was normal.”

Greg didn’t try to tell John he was normal. Frankly, he wasn’t. He wanted to tell John how brave he thought John was, how he found John’s strength and resilience simply amazing, but he didn’t know how to phrase it, and he knew John wasn’t trying to fish. So he kept silent.

“I developed a bit of a reputation, which I was rather uncomfortable with. One guy called me a whore, and he was just joking, of course he didn’t know, but that hit a little too close to home. So I stopped that. And...that was basically it. Until now.”

“So in the army there was nothing?”

John shook his head. “The army was good, actually, ironically because it was similar, in a way, to being a...slave. There was the communal living, the strictly regimented lifestyle, doing only what you were told to do. Stuff i’d kind of become used to, and it was sort of comforting to have that again. It’s fucked up, I know. But I was there because I wanted to be there, and I was helping people in the process, and that made all of the difference. The other reason it was good was because in the army, lots of people are there because their lives at home aren’t so great. So when people ask you about your past, or stuff like that, you can be cagey about it, and it doesn’t really raise many eyebrows. So I never had to bother with dating people I’m not really interested in to keep up appearances, or anything like that. Then I got shot, came home, met Sherlock, found you. The rest is history.”

Greg nodded, processing. “So, with regards to now, to us. Sex. Is that...something you want to do at all?”

John nodded slowly. “I do, yeah. I’m not sure how I’ll react. I mean, I haven’t had sex with a man in fifteen years, and never consensually. I think penetration might be something we’ll have to work up to? And I think I’d prefer to be on top. In both senses of the word, I don’t think I’d feel comfortable on my back. Is that okay with you?”

Greg nodded immediately, then paused, thinking over John’s words properly. He nodded again. “Yes.”

“Alright.” John sat up, turning to face Greg. “And what about you? I’m sure you have your own misgivings.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's surprisingly insightful about himself. he's been thinking very hard about this, clearly, and probably for longer than a few days.


	38. Sometimes I Can't Even Trust Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg has concerns of his own.

Greg nodded slowly, a little trepidation in his eyes. He didn’t want to upset John.

“Just say it.” John said gently.

There was a long pause. John just kept looking at Greg with a calm gaze.

“I can’t help but think- maybe there’s something more to us being together than me wanting to be with you, and you wanting to be with me. Like maybe, even just subconsciously, this is because you want some sort of...closure, or you want to know what might have been, or, y’know, some sort of psychological other reason I can’t even think of.”

Greg looked down at his hands, folded in his lap, as John sat back, an odd, quiet look on his face.  
“That’s fair.” He said eventually. “Perfectly valid, honestly, and I can’t even say for certain that you have nothing to worry about. It’s possible. But at the same time, I don’t think that that is what this is about. This, us, it’s more than that, I’m convinced of it. But there’s no way for me to prove it to you, at least, no magical evidence that can be produced this afternoon. I can only prove it by sticking with you, until you’re convinced that there can be no other reason for me to stay but because I want to. And until that point, whenever that is, I can only say that I do want to be with you because I like you, because I care about you, and that will just have to be enough for now. Is that alright?”

John waited for a long moment as Greg considered this. “Yes.” Greg said eventually. 

John nodded. “Okay, good. Anything else?”

Greg shook his head, and John relaxed, slumping into Greg’s side. Greg put one arm around John, and John grappled blindly behind himself for Greg’s beer. He nearly knocked it over but managed to get a hand around it, taking a sip. He grimaced. 

“It’s tepid.” He complained. 

“Stick it back in the fridge, then.” Greg said in his usual pragmatic way.

“It’s also flat.”

Greg rolled his eyes and got up, dumping John on the sofa, and taking the beer from him. “I feel like some tea, anyway. You?”

“God, yes.” John groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I _need_ tea, especially after that. That was fucking grueling.”

Greg went into the kitchen, dropping the beer into the dustbin with a clank on the way. “But worth it, yes?”

John shifted his arm so he could look at Greg with one glinting eye. “I certainly hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there porn coming? Maybe. I might still chicken out of actually writing it.


	39. I Pulled the Panic Cord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's not the only one who has things to work through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating's gone up ayyy
> 
> Edit: Happy Trans Day of Visibility! I only found out today but yeah! And I have a trans character on the way, maybe as soon as next chapter, so this is perfectly timed.

It was two Saturdays later when John brought it up again. They’d gone out for lunch, and were now lounging on John’s bed a little drowsily, trying to think of something to do but too full and sleepy to make a proper go of it. It was properly spring by then and oddly clear for London, and the sunlight that streamed through the curtains and warmed the room delightfully didn’t do much to help.

“We could play something.” Greg suggested half-heartedly. “Board game?”

John rolled over onto his side, throwing an arm over Greg’s torso and kissing his scruffy jaw sloppily.

“Or,” he murmured, “I could suck you off.”

Greg hummed and ducked his head to smear his lips across John’s. “You sure?” He leaned back a little to look John in the eye.

John rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.” His hand snaked down Greg’s torso, deftly unbuttoning Greg’s shirt as he went. “Don’t pull my hair.” He warned.

Greg kissed John again, more carefully this time, slow and lingering. “You’re so romantic.” He snarked as John pulled away. 

John chuckled. “That’s your job.” He got up on his knees, unbuttoning Greg’s trousers and pulling them off, along with his pants. He settled between Greg’s legs, grinning up him through the dark thatch of pubic hair. “Ready?” He didn’t wait for Greg to respond, laving wetly over Greg’s semi-erect cock.

Greg jerked at the sudden burst of sensation. “Christ.” He gasped.

John worked Greg into full hardness with practiced efficiency, then began sinking down on him, Greg’s cock disappearing inch by inch into his mouth until John’s nose pressed against the skin of Greg’s lower belly. 

“Stop, stop.” Greg muttered, pushing John off him with a firm hand on his forehead. He sat up, scrambling back against the headboard.

John hovered by Greg’s shins, looking up at Greg with anxious eyes, unsure whether he should move away or come closer. Greg shook his head, patting the space next to him. Cautiously, John shifted up the bed, sliding beside Greg. “You alright?”

Greg shook his head again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I swear, I just couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

John frowned. “Thinking about what?”

Greg’s hands flopped awkwardly in an aborted gesture. “The reason you’re so good at that.”

John’s mouth flattened into a hard line. “And you don’t like that. That I’ve done this before, with hundreds of men. _Used up_.”

Greg shook his head, backtracking quickly. “It’s not like that, I don’t think any less of you. The fact that you’ve done this with any number of other men doesn’t make you any less precious to me, make you doing this for me less of a...gift, because this isn’t because you have to, but because you want to, you chose to.”

The hard lines of John’s face softened a little. “What is it, then?”

“You’re in no way used up, but you were...used. I was just suddenly reminded of that, and it makes me so angry. And then I just couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

John sighed, and settled back against Greg. “I suppose that’s fair. But you’ll have to figure out how to stop, that’s a giant mood killer.”

Greg glanced down at his now flaccid cock. “Tell me about it.”

John kissed Greg on the cheek. “And I can’t believe you called me _precious_. Diamonds are precious. Babies are precious. I’m a grown man, damnit.”

Greg laughed. “Aye aye, Captain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I keep doing this to them?


	40. I was Wondering if After All These Years You'd Like to Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tbh I'm not confident with writing Mycroft yet. That delicate balance of creepy and caring is hard to achieve. Also, Happy April Fools'!

Summer came and went. John split his time between running around with Sherlock and spending time with Greg and his family, especially when the girls were home from school for the holidays. It was that time at the end of of summer and the beginning of autumn, when the weather could be stupidly hot one day and sweater weather the next. Sherlock began wearing his coat the moment the temperature began to dip below fifteen degrees in the daytime, and refused to take it off after, no matter how hot it managed to get. It was one of the cold days when Sherlock sent John off to somewhere in the country to investigate the mysterious death of a hiker. He wasn’t there for very long, however, as a helicopter came to take him to Buckingham palace, of all places, where Sherlock was waiting, clad only in a sheet.

Eventually Mycroft managed to wrangle Sherlock into clothes, and began to explain the case. He passed a photograph to Sherlock.

“What do you know of this woman?”

Sherlock made a careless, dismissive gesture. “Nothing whatsoever.”

John leaned over Sherlock’s elbow, peering at the print out. “She looks familiar.” 

Sherlock looked sharply at him. “Who is she?”

John shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea. I can’t place her.”

Mycroft smiled smugly. “I thought you might. You, ah, ran in the same circles, once upon a time.”  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Stop playing games, Mycroft. Who is she?”

“Her name is Irene Adler, though she is professionally known as ‘The Woman’. But when you knew her, John, she went by the name of Adrian Adler.”

John sucked in a sharp breath, remembering a tall, but lanky and fine-boned scrap of a boy with a thick Birmingham accent and a haunted look in his eyes. He seemed nothing like this woman, with her perfectly coiffed hair and her confident stance. And yet, looking closer at the photograph he felt he could still see that same look, buried under layers of practised arrogance. 

He looked back at Mycroft. “You don’t really want Sherlock on this case. You want me.”

Mycroft inclined his head. “Her line of work has...not much changed, in the last fifteen years. Although she does get paid now, of course. Rather exorbitant amounts. For those who are prepared to pay, she provides- shall we say- recreational scoldings.”

Sherlock affected nonchalance, but John did not miss the concerned glance he shot his way. “And I’m assuming she has some compromising photographs.”

The man who had so far been standing silently behind Mycroft spoke up. “You’re very quick, Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to make a dismissive remark, but John interrupted him before he could speak.

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Mycroft said, in a tone of voice that meant he did, in fact, know. “Talk to her, I suppose. Lend a listening ear, convince her to relinquish the photographs. You’re a persuasive man, Doctor Watson. And you have the common ground to begin with.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Me? Persuasive? What gave you that idea?”

Mycroft smirked. “Just last week, you managed to get Sherlock to clean the bathroom, did you not?”

John sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “God, you’re such a creep.” He muttered, then looked up. ”Fine, I’ll do it. But don’t expect too much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doo youu remember him? Or her, rather.


	41. I Know This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock prepare to meet Irene Adler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to youdbefuntomurder and 0foxgiven for having given the suggestion of John meeting someone from his past

Sherlock and John walked up the street towards where Mycroft had told them Irene lived.

“Mycroft’s plan isn’t going to work.” Sherlock said confidently.  
“No, it isn’t.” John agreed.

“Then why are you doing it?” Sherlock questioned.

John shrugged. “Because I’ve always felt bad about not keeping up with the people I knew back then, and I’ve always wondered how they ended up. So this is my chance to have a chat with her, find out how she’s doing, all that. Get a little more closure.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “One would think you’d have enough closure, after fifteen years.”

John sighed. “It’s not- Closure’s a myth, in a sense. There’s never a point or an event which makes you think ‘okay, I think I’m okay with it now’. It always comes back. And yeah, time helps, provides a bit of distance and all that, but there will always be things. So anyway, that’s why I’m doing this. But why are you here? Is it just your morbid curiosity at work?”

Sherlock grinned and stopped, turning around. “Partly, yes.” He admitted. “But I have another reason. Like I said, Mycroft’s plan won’t work. But I have my own plan.”

John stopped too. “Okay let’s hear it.”

Sherlock explained his plan, and John frowned slightly. “There’s a lot of things that could go wrong. And why am I doing the deducing? That’s your job.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “It’s not even deducing, it’s just observing. Use your eyes, I know you have them somewhere.”

John huffed irritably, though he was enough used to Sherlock that he wasn’t actually offended. “Fine, let’s go, you nutter. And don’t blame me when your stupidly complicated plan fails.”

*****

John rang the doorbell of Irene’s rather extravagant looking house with no small amount of trepidation. He might have made a nice speech to Sherlock, but in truth he wasn’t actually so certain this conversation would actually be helpful to him. Though he did believe that there was nothing wrong with being a sex worker as long as it was freely chosen, it was still an unsettling thought to realise that not everyone, in fact, probably a large majority, hadn’t been able to get out, even after they were all freed.

He was jerked out of his reverie when the door was answered when the door was answered, not by Irene, but by a young woman he didn’t recognise. She smiled at him, opening the door wider, and John couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not. 

“Miss Adler has been expecting you.”


	42. I Smile Because I Want To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Irene have a chat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irene's another difficult character

They were shown into a sitting room that was as opulent as the rest of the house, and left there to wait for Miss Adler’s arrival. Not long after John could hear the click of heels against tiled flooring. She soon came into view, wearing a slinky black dress and garters. John stared a bit, before collecting himself. 

“This isn’t- um, a business call.” He said hesitantly.

She sat down in a chair opposite him, crossing her legs. “Oh, I know.” She said, with a bright red smile that looked unsettlingly predatory. “In any case, I doubt you could afford me.”

John, unsure what else to do, laughed, somewhat nervously. 

Irene’s gaze was sharp. “You’re here for the photographs.”

“No.” John said, shaking his head. “That’s why I was sent here, certainly, but I already told him not to expect much.”

Irene looked at Sherlock. “Yet you brought your detective friend.”

John looked at Sherlock too, smiling slightly. “Moral support. Plus, Sherlock thought it might be a good opportunity to grill me. He’s got a morbid sort of curiosity.”

Sherlock nodded in agreement, radiating an aura of uncharacteristic pleasantness. “I don’t mean to intrude, though. In fact, I rather need the loo.”

Irene nodded towards the door. “Turn right, third door on the left.”

Sherlock left, and Irene turned back to John. “He’s not going to the bathroom.” She said, as though she thought this might be news to John. “He won’t find anything, though. I’m more careful than that.”

John cocked his head. “Irene. I really am not interested in your photographs. I understand, you know. Needing to look out for yourself because no one else will.”

Irene’s calm facade slipped a little. “Oh you understand, do you _Doctor_ Watson. I was under the impression you were a medical doctor, not a psychologist.”

John huffed out a breath. “I’ve been in the same situation as you have, it’s got nothing to do with psychology.”

Irene uncrossed and recrossed her legs, a sign of her growing agitation, yet done with a grace and elegance that made it seem deliberate. “But we are in very different situations now.”

John nodded his agreement, taking the opportunity to segue. “We are. Which is why I thought it might be nice to catch up a bit. How did you get into-” He gestured at her. “This?”

Irene’s lips quirked in amusement. “Oh, the dress? Yes, the zip at the back is a little difficult, but I have Kate to help me.”

John laughed, but before he could reply further, they were interrupted by the smoke alarm, followed by several gunshots.


	43. Sometimes You Try to Freeze Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gun wielding Americans. John is awesome.

John leapt to his feet, crying out Sherlock’s name. He turned to Irene. “Your assistant, was that her?”

Irene shook her head. “Kate’s excellent with a whip. Less so with a gun.” She looked worried, but not surprised. 

John started towards the door but was stopped in his tracks by a black-clad man bursting through the door. “Hands on your head, on the floor. Keep it still!” He shouted with an American accent. He was followed by two more men who frogmarched a calm Sherlock into the room. He looked at John with a questioning gaze. John glanced towards the mirror above the fireplace, and Sherlock gave an almost imperceptible nod. The first man turned to Sherlock, although he kept his gun wavering between John and Irene. 

“You know where they are.” He said confidently.

Sherlock stuck his hands in his pockets, shrugging nonchalantly. “Not a clue, I’m afraid.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you.” He hissed. He raised his voice. “Mr Archer, on the count of three, shoot Doctor Watson.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. Striding over to the mirror, he examined it for a second before hooking his fingers beneath the mantelpiece, causing the mirror to slide up, revealing a safe. The American nodded approvingly. “Good. Now open it.”

Sherlock turned back to face him. “I don’t know it.” He answered honestly.

The man didn’t look away from Sherlock. “Again, Mr. Archer. One.”

John glanced up without moving his head. “For God’s sake, why don’t you ask her? She knows the code, and she’s right here.”

The man gritted his teeth. “She also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I’ve learned not to trust her. Two.”

“I don’t know the code.” Sherlock repeated, audibly panicked. Meanwhile, Irene was trying to catch John’s eye. He glanced at her, and she gave him a meaningful look. John’s mind raced. So the code must be something she thought he could figure out, so something meaningful to them both, meaning- Oh.

“Sherlock!” John said quickly. “Twenty-four, zero six, ninety six.”

John could see the cogs in Sherlock’s mind whirring, and barely a second later Sherlock’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, of course.” He murmured.

He turned back to the safe, and slowly began to punch in the numbers. The safe gave a beep as it unlocked, and John sagged in relief. 

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes.” The man said, a note of triumph in his voice. “Now open it, please.”

Sherlock brought his hand to the safe before pausing and turning to catch John’s eye.

“Vatican Cameos!” He cried, and threw open the safe, a gunshot echoing in time with his words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so the code is probably easy to figure out but meh.


	44. Through Lips of Lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has good instincts but he's bad at not listening to Sherlock's bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What does Irene want? Even I don't know. She's such a difficult character, y'all. Also. This chapter draws heavily from the show in terms of dialogue. Many of the chapters do a bit but there was quite a lot on this one and I was just reading up on Cassandra Clare's plagiarism scandal so I figured. Better to be safe.

Upon hearing the code John dove for the floor, the bullet that fired straight out of the safe coming dangerously close to his head before burying itself into the chest of the man who’d been holding a gun to the back of his head. Irene reacted quickly as well, taking out her own guard as Sherlock took care of the one in charge. John, ever the doctor, checked the man who’d been shot before standing.

“He’s dead.” He told Sherlock. 

Sherlock nodded at John, though he wasn’t really paying attention, turning his focus on Irene instead. “The date of your release.” He murmured. “Obvious, of course. I should have known. But I suppose it only makes sense that John got there first.” He admitted.

Irene glanced at John, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “Doctor Watson was just telling me all about how he _understands_.” Her voice turned serious. “Perhaps he does.”

Sherlock glanced out the window, slipping back into business mode. “There’ll be more of them, keeping an eye on the building.”

Sherlock left the house, John on his heels, and Irene took the opportunity to hurry over the safe, only to find it empty. Sherlock had taken it while they were all distracted. Fortunately for her, Sherlock had only left to fire several shots into the air, and he soon returned. Once back in the room, Sherlock turned to John. 

“Check the rest of the house, see how they got in.” he instructed.

John looked dubiously between Sherlock and Irene, fairly certain leaving them alone together would be a bad idea. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“I can handle myself, John. And so can Ms. Adler, I’m sure.”

“Famous last words.” John muttered, but left the room.

In the bedroom upstairs he found the assistant, Kate, lying prone on the floor. He checked her breathing and her pulse, and once he ascertained she would be all right, began to check the room. Sherlock came in, followed by Irene. He glanced at the latter. 

“It’s all right, she’s just out cold.” He reassured her.

“Well, God knows she’s used to that.” Irene murmured. “There’s a back door. Better check it, Doctor Watson.” She added.

Sherlock smirked. “I doubt, Ms Adler, that God wants anything to do with it.” He wasn’t looking at her, focussed on the phone in his hand. 

John again hesitated, but went to go check the door at a nod from Sherlock. When he returned, Sherlock was on the floor, Irene standing over him with a riding crop. 

“Jesus. What are you doing?” He noticed a syringe on the floor with a tinge of panic, knowing Sherlock’s history with addiction. “What did you give him?”

He knelt beside Sherlock, checking his vitals. Elevated heart rate, decrease in breathing. Muscle tremors, not severe. 

Irene shrugged carelessly. “He’ll be fine. I’ve used it on loads of my friends. He’ll sleep for a few hours. Make sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit.” And with that she escaped out the window. 

John looked down at Sherlock. “So much for ‘I can handle myself, John’, huh?”

Sherlock could only groan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm considering adlock. Yay? Nay? Tell me what you think.


	45. Get Me Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Greg flirt. Sherlock ships it, but not that hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so adlock is a resounding nay, which I was leaning towards anyway, so thanks, guys. I'm surprised, actually, at the unanimous response. Is it not a popular ship among johnstraders? (can I use that word? idk I'm a johnlocker myself, this is new to me) That would be unexpected because it's not a directly competing ship like johnlock vs sherlolly and I thought rare pair ships tend to stick together. Although I suppose johnstrade is rarer than adlock. (I checked and yep! adlock is more than twice as big. C'mon, guys! We gotta catch up.) And ugh, I'm rambly today. I'm gonna stop before the notes section becomes longer than the fic.

When Greg saw the incoming call from John, he raised his eyebrows, but picked up.

“What’s happened?” He asked immediately once the call connected.

“How did you know something happened?” John’s voice held the same confused wonder he used with Sherlock at crime scenes.   
“It’s three in the afternoon on a workday. Normally you’d text.” Greg explained.

“Amazing.” John breathed. Greg smiled, pleased, before frowning in confusion. 

“Well, you don’t sound very urgent. So there’s no emergency?”

“Well, not emergency, per se. Our dear, brilliant, lanky idiot has managed to get himself drugged, and I need some help hauling his comatose arse home.”

Greg’s eyes widened in alarm. John sounded calm, but unlike John, Greg had actually seen what Sherlock was like when he was high, and when he was in withdrawal. He never wanted to go back to that.

“How much did he take?”

“Oh, no, he didn’t take anything.” John reassured him. “Someone else drugged him. I’m not sure what, but I suspect ketamine.”

“That’s a date rape drug. What are you guys doing getting date raped at three in the afternoon?”

John heaved a sigh. “Long story, I’ll tell you in a bit. We’re in Belgravia, I’ll text you the address.”

The summons was implied but clear nevertheless. “Should I bring backup? Sally?”

John chuckled. “He’s tall, but not that tall. And I don’t think Sherlock would ever forgive me if I let someone else see him in this state. Especially Sally.”

Greg got up, grabbing his keys. “I’m on my way. You know, they haven’t been as antagonistic lately. I’m not suggesting bringing her along, she’d tease him to hell and back, but they really haven’t. It’s nice but also a little unnerving.”

“Yeah.” John agreed. “I think I’ll stick with less antagonistic, God knows the hell they’d raise if they actually got along.”

Greg shuddered in agreement. “Okay. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

*****

As Greg got out of the car in Belgravia, he heard John calling his name.

“Up here!” John was hanging out an upstairs window of number forty-four, waving at him. “The door’s unlocked.”

John met him on the upstairs landing. “Why are there bodies in the sitting room?” Greg asked curiously.

John shrugged. “Americans. Again, long story, later. I called Mycroft, he’s taking care of them. Sherlock’s in here.”

Sherlock was lying on the floor, where John hadn’t moved him except to tip him into recovery position. 

“I can actually carry him myself, but I didn’t want to risk the stairs.” John hauled Sherlock up. The man opened his eyes, his arms flailing. “Hold still, you idiot. Greg, grab his legs?”

Greg took Sherlock’s legs, impressed at John’s strength. “Not bad for a man your size.” He teased. “But I suppose Sherlock doesn’t count, he’s all skin and bones anyway.”

A lie. Even Sherlock’s legs were surprisingly heavy. John took the bait anyway. He smirked at Greg. “Bet I can carry you, does that count?”

Greg grinned back. “You should prove it by fucking me against a wall.” He suggested.

“God, you can’t say things like that to me when I’m carrying Sherlock, that’s just weird.” John complained.

Greg raised his eyebrows. “Is that a no, then?”

John smiled slowly. “Ask me nicely.”

Greg widened his eyes into the face he knew John couldn’t resist. “Pretty please, John, will you fuck me against a wall?”

John snorted in amusement. “I’ll think about it.”

That meant yes. “Yes!” Greg whispered under his breath.

Sherlock groaned, looking surprisingly lucid for a second. “I can’t believe you made me hear that with my own ears.” He complained.

John glanced at Greg and grimaced, though his eyes were alight with amusement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My low-key Sherlock/Sally friendship shipping is rapidly becoming high key Sherlock/Sally friendship shipping and I'm not really sure what to do with it, in this fic at least. Again, yay? Nay? And if yay, I need suggestions, or at least someone to chat with me to stir up the idea pot a little, everything's settled at the bottom and I can't get to it on my own.


	46. There's Such a Difference between Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Greg have a chat. They do that a lot, it's good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, guys. Communication is key. Hope nothing...happens to it.

Between the two of them, John and Greg managed to get Sherlock back home and into bed, although other than when there were stairs, Greg was actually fairly useless, alternating between staring at John’s muscles, and giggling and taking videos of a high, rambling Sherlock.  
“It’s nice.” He explained to John, who’d scowled at him. “When he’s on cocaine he’s just twice as annoying, and fifty times as grouchy once he starts coming down. But right now he just sounds kinda drunk, and I don’t really have to worry about him. Plus, it’ll be good for blackmail.”

John just sighed and continued hauling a wriggly, uncooperative Sherlock into the downstairs bedroom. Once that was done he set a glass and a jug of water on Sherlock’s bedside before going to the couch to collapse, head in Greg’s lap. Greg’s hand went automatically into his hair, stroking gently.

“He gonna be alright?”

John shrugged. “I think so. I’ll monitor him. He’ll likely be pretty disoriented when he wakes up. And he’s going to need that water, most drugs tend to leave you with a really dry mouth.”

Greg grinned. “Speaking from experience?”

John froze, looking caught. “Maybe once or twice.” He admitted. “Mostly it was my dorm mates though, I was usually the one looking after them in the morning.”

“Ever the caretaker.” Greg said fondly. 

“Yeah, yeah.” John muttered, slightly embarrassed. “You don’t need to get back to work?”

“What, trying to get rid of me?” Greg teased. “They don’t expect me back. All I have to say is there’s a Sherlock Holmes emergency, and everyone’s happy to let me go because they don’t want to be the one to deal with him.”

John snorted. “Sometimes, I can relate to the sentiment. Anyway, I was going to tell you how we ended up here. Do you remember me telling you about Adrian, years and years ago?”

_“I’m not a snitch, but they definitely are. Especially that one. Adrian. I don’t blame him, though. We’re the same age, but he’s been here longer, about five years? So he was around back when the big boss didn’t care so much about keeping the assets in good condition, didn’t mind having underaged kids. I came in after, so I don’t really know what it was like. Bad, I think. So I guess I can understand. He’s scared.”_

Greg nodded. “I remember. What about him?”

“Well first of all, turns out he’s a she. Her name’s Irene Adler, now.”

Greg’s mouth dropped open. “The Woman?”

John’s eyebrows shot up. “You know her?”

“I know _of_ her.” Greg corrected quickly. “Not...biblically.”

John smirked, wriggling his eyebrows. “So you’re not interested in some recreational scolding?”

“Ugh, no. Get off me.” Greg shoved at John’s shoulder.

John’s laughter slowly subsided. “Okay, anyway, she happens to have ‘scolded’ a member of the royal family. And she has photographs.”

Greg pressed his fist against his closed lips, eyes wide, shoulders shaking. “Seriously?” He whispered.

“Yeah.” John nodded.

“Oh my God, that’s priceless.”

“Literally.” John added. “So anyway, Mycroft wanted me to go get the photographs from her. Commiserate with her, or something, get her to reveal where they are. It was a stupid plan. What actually happened was this…”


	47. (He) Loves You (Yeah, Yeah, Yeah)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some important things are said.

John recounted the story, and he was done Greg remained silent for a while, with a pensive expression.

“Kinda makes you wonder, huh?” Greg said eventually. “What happened to all the others. I mean, I only know of two, and one became an army doctor, and then a crime solver, and the other became a woman. And a dominatrix.”

John nodded. “Life’s funny.”

“Do you ever think about what you might be like? If you hadn’t gone through that?”

“Sometimes.” John admitted. “Usually when I see abuse cases, like at the clinic. I wonder if I would’ve noticed if hadn’t experienced it myself. But I also usually...try not to think about it. It’s not useful, mostly it just makes me feel like shit.”

Greg tugged thoughtfully at John’s ear. It was a weird sensation, but Greg liked it for some odd reason, so John bore it with grace. “Well...at least you met me.”

John snorted. “Greg, I love you, but you don’t make up for three years of sexual slavery.”

Greg gaped down at John. “You’ve never said that before.”

“What, sexual slavery? Like I said, I don’t like thinking about it, or talking about it. I’ve been getting better at it though, after you, and us having to talk about stuff and work through it, I’ve kind of...gotten more used to it, though it is still kinda weird to say it out loud.”

“No, not that, although that too. The other thing.”

Greg could almost see John mentally pausing and rewinding his words. “Oh.” He said.

“Yeah, oh.”

John looked nervous. “Are you angry?”

Greg sighed. “No. It’s just- I’ve said it loads of times, and you never say it back, and now you just come out with that like it’s nothing. I don’t get it.”

John shifted his feet awkwardly. It didn’t quite work, because he was lying down, and looked a little more like childish kicking. It was strange, because John always seemed older, more mature than his actual age would suggest. 

“It’s just- The first time you said it, I wasn’t ready, and that was really awkward, and then you said it several more times, and I still wasn’t ready, and then I was, but by then it was just even more awkward, because you’d said it so many times already. And I wanted to do it properly, I couldn’t just say it back because that would be...unspecial. So I was trying to find the perfect moment, because you like romantic stuff like that, but I couldn’t find any. That was a couple of months ago, so it’s been sort of...building up. And then it sort of slipped out. In an extremely unromantic way. Sorry about that.”

Greg stared at him, and then started laughing. “Is that why you dragged me to the opera?”

John smiled sheepishly. “It was Sherlock’s idea. I told him it was dumb, no one likes opera anymore.”

Greg bent over so his face was hanging above John’s. “Well Sherlock actually speaks Italian.”

John shoved at Greg’s forehead and sat up. “Get off me, you clot.” 

Greg snaked an arm around John’s torso, tugging him into his lap. “You love me, though.” He said smugly.

John sighed and relaxed against Greg, resting his head against Greg’s shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to admit something, guys. I don't plan. I mean, for this story I do know, the general arc, and I know that along the way certain specific things are going to happen. I don't know when, though. Or how, always. This chapter, in particular, surprised me. I did know that Greg was confessing his love and John just totally wasn't, and I knew that would come up eventually. But this was...unexpected, literally. I was halfway through the chapter and then I was like woAH WHAT JUST HAPPENED. It's like sometimes it's me writing this story and sometimes I'm possessed by a...a writing ghost. Who writes way better than I do. So idk if the story quality seems to fluctuate, I know I feel it does, I don't think I have any major plotholes, let me know if you find any I'll send a crew of workmen to fix it.


	48. Have Dinner With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have dinner

The case seemed to be dropped after that afternoon. Sherlock wavered between put out and impressed at having been outwitted. John still felt that something was unfinished, but was also uncertain how she would feel about him contacting her again. Then she contacted him first.

Dinner, Doctor Watson? IA

Who is this? JW

Forgotten me already? I’m hurt. IA

That’s not very enlightening. JW

Oh, you’re Irene. JW

I bet you asked Mr Holmes for help. IA

Wrong. He looked over my shoulder. JW

And dinner? Why? JW

You wanted to talk to me. IA

And you want to talk to me? JW

Well I would hardly be opposed to dinner with an attractive and intelligent man. IA

I’m in a committed relationship. JW

Duly noted. IA

Nevertheless. Dinner? IA

Alright, you have anywhere in mind? JW

Judging by Irene’s house, John had expected the address Irene texted to him to be somewhere ridiculously fancy with chandeliers and a tiny waiter to table ratio. So he was pleasantly surprised by the cosy looking little restaurant he found himself at. The delicious smells coming from the kitchen certainly didn’t hurt. Irene arrived precisely on time, and he stood, taking her hand.

“Doctor Watson.” She purred.

“Good evening. Uh...just John is fine, actually.”  
She smiled pleasantly, sitting. “Good evening, John.” 

They spent a while getting comfortable, not talking about anything too serious as they ordered their food and waited for it to arrive. Irene was a surprisingly good conversationalist, funny and a good listener. She was also tightly controlled, in a way that John only noticed because he recognised it in himself, to a lesser degree. The calculated perfection of someone who’d learned to interact normally not in the organic, usual way, but through careful study and practice, and much trial and error. John saw it in Sherlock, too, although Sherlock barely ever bothered, and only trotted it out when he needed to charm someone into giving him something. However, after a while Irene seemed to untwist just the tiniest bit, and John decided to try broaching the subject that had been nagging at him.

“Do you enjoy it? The work you do?”

Irene glanced down at her gnocchi, artfully shifting the pieces of dumpling around. “It’s what I know.” She said simply.

“Yes, but is it what you want to do?” John persisted.

Irene would have shrugged, if she ever did anything as casual as shrugging. “It’s not the same as being there. I’m the one in charge. But they’re also the one in charge, because when they come to me, they tell me what they want, and I give it to them. Because I want to. It’s a satisfying balance.”

John’s mouth almost dropped open in surprise. He hadn’t thought she would reveal so much about herself, and he said as much.

Irene smiled at him, tiny but genuine. “No one’s ever asked me what I want before.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irene Adler remains an elusive character. She's a bit of an ice queen, and I want to take that apart in a different way from the show. A good way. So get ready for some John/Irene friendship, and the return of Jealous!Greg. I'm a fluff writer at heart, guys.


	49. I Don't Know if You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marie and Greg have a chat

“Marie! What are you doing here?” Greg hugged his ex-wife, confused but pleased to see her.

“Hey, Greg! It’s been a while since I saw you properly, not just dropping off the girls and rushing off. Tom’s got them right now though, so it’s just us. You look great! Certainly better that the flat, anyway. Bachelor life suiting you?”

Greg shrugged sheepishly. “Quite, although I’m not sure how bachelor I actually am, between my three kids and my boyfriend.”

Marie guided Greg gently but firmly to the sofa. “Yes, I wanted to talk to you about John.”

Greg frowned slightly. “What about John?”

“Well Tom and I were having dinner at our usual place on Thursday, and I saw John there, with a woman. They seemed to be quite cosy. I don’t know, it could be nothing. But I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

Greg thought back to Thursday. “Oh, no, that’s just Irene. John told me about it. It’s, um, complicated. But it’s not like that.”

Marie looked relieved. “Oh, good. I hoped it was something like that, you two are just so good together. I have to admit, I had my doubts in the beginning, you know why, but he’s lovely. The kids won’t shut up about him. But I had to double check. You know how I am about these things.”

“I know.” Greg did know, and he was glad of it. Marie had strong beliefs about cheating, and it was the reason she’d come to him, when she found herself falling in love with another man. He couldn’t imagine how it would have affected them if she’d instead chosen to sneak around, him suspicious and then hurt, her resentful and then uncaring. Certainly, it would have been terrible for the kids. 

Greg smiled as he thought about the other thing Marie had said. “John’s wonderful. He’s just...so easy to talk to. I’ve never had a connection like that with someone before. Everything is simpler when he’s around.”

Marie raised an eyebrow. “Even the...you know? That thing.”

Greg hated that he immediately knew what Marie was talking about. “Okay, maybe not everything.” He admitted. “But even that’s not so bad. Or I mean, I can say that, but John’s the one who has to deal with all those things. I help him along, but it’s his stuff. And he tries so hard. I can tell it’s hard for him. Hell, it’s hard for me, and mostly all I do is listen. But he does it because he knows he needs to, and it makes us better, when I understand and we figure out together what to do about whatever it is that’s cropped up. It’s how I know he loves me. You know, he only said the words a couple of weeks ago. Although apparently he’s been meaning to say them for months, the daft bugger. But yeah, I knew. Because he wouldn’t bother if he didn’t.”

Marie smiled, hugging him. “Look at you, all happy. I’m so glad.”

Greg chuckled, wrapping his arms around her. “Thanks. Sorry for making a whole speech at you, though.”

Marie laughed brightly. “Oh, no, I remember doing the same to you over Tom.”

Greg nodded, remembering. “Well I suppose turnabout is fair play.”

She patted his hand. “Anytime, darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that thing where you're writing and you know where you are and what you're doing, and you know where you want to go and what you're gonna do there, but you're not quite sure how to get there? That's kinda happening to me. It's very annoying.


	50. One-Way Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg has doubts. He makes a stupid decision.

Greg smiled at Marie. “Marie, thank you so much for coming by, we should do this more often. But Saturdays are date nights when there’s no case, and this is the first such saturday in three weeks, so if you don’t mind, I need to get over to Baker Street before John thinks I’ve forgotten him.”

Marie laughed. “Alright, I get it, I’m being politely kicked out.” She stood, pulling him up into a hug. “Take care of yourself, darling. I’m here if you need an ear, you’ve got my number, all right?”

*****

Greg had dismissed Marie’s concerns easily, but over the course of dinner he found them lingering, resurfacing every time John glanced at his phone. Which he did a lot, the phone screen lighting up every few minutes or so. John would look at it, reply, and turn back to Greg. It wasn’t like they were doing anything fancy, Greg rationalised. They were just chatting, having takeaway on the sofa. John was exactly the same in every other respect, cracking dumb jokes and complaining lightheartedly about unimportant things. Still, it was an unsettling turn of events.

Greg finally cracked shortly after they’d finished eating. They’d settled into their second most common sofa position, John sitting normally on the end, tilted towards Greg, and Greg reclining sideways, his feet in John’s lap, getting a foot massage. It was maddening, because every few minutes Greg could _feel_ his massage turn into half-arsed kneading as John abandoned Greg’s feet in favour of his phone.

“Who’re you texting?” He asked, trying to sound lighthearted and like he didn’t care all that much.

John smiled. “Irene. I’m trying to get her to go to sleep. She hasn’t gotten more than a catnap in two days.”

Greg hummed sympathetically, though he privately felt rather alarmed that John knew so much about Irene Adler’s sleeping habits. John must have read something in his face, because he set the phone down, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Oh, is someone feeling neglected?” John crawled sinuously across the sofa until his elbows were bracketing Greg’s hips, and smirked up at him. “I suppose I shall have to make it up to you.”

Just the look on John’s face was enough to get Greg aroused, a familiar mix of eager, earnest, and predatory that always meant good things. Greg cupped the back of John’s head, his fingers dipping into the comfortable little indent at the base of his skull.

“Not here, John. You know Sherlock will deduce it, and then do something horrid, like burn it, and I like this sofa. It’s comfy.”

John buried his face in Greg’s hip to stifle his laughter. “You know, Sherlock likes this sofa too.”

Greg sat up, pulling John up with him by the shoulders for a lingering kiss. “Come on, upstairs.”

*****

Later that night, Greg lay awake, caught in the circle of a sleeping John’s arms, feeling the sweat cool on the back of his neck. The thought of Irene still nagged at him, and he wondered if he should talk to John about it. He looked John, just watching the way the moonlight turned his hair silver. A car passed below on the street, the light from the headlamps striping quickly across John’s face. John, always a light sleeping, twitched slightly, but soon settled down. No, Greg decided. It wasn’t that important. They had just, finally, gotten to a point where either of them could initiate sex without anyone freaking out or worse, pretending to be fine while not actually being fine. He didn’t want to do anything to disturb that. Besides, it was just in his head. John hadn’t done anything wrong. Greg could get over his stupid insecurities without bothering John with them. Nodding to himself, Greg settled down and did his best to try to get to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what, guys? When I started writing this chapter I said to myself, this is going to be a short one, I don't have all that much to say. Yet this turned out to be longer than the usual. Funny how that happens.


	51. Looking at You Staring at Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Irene have fun. Not that kind of fun. But tell that to Greg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I'm uncertain about the quality of this chapter because the entire time I was writing it my brain was doing the monkey-with-cymbals spinny-spin thing. Idk man I slept too much also I need sleep.

Getting over his stupid insecurities proved easier said than done. Irene texted John frequently, and on occasion she even came over to the flat. To Baker Street, rather. Greg had begun staying over with John more and more, spending the night there unless the girls were staying with him that week, in which case John would often stay with him. They’d ended up buying an extra toothbrush each, because they both had a tendency to forget to bring one when coming over. 

John had been enjoying getting to know Irene better. He prided himself on being someone whom she felt she could open up to, maybe even consider a friend. It was similar to his relationship with Sherlock, in an odd way. John reflected that he probably had a type. However, there was Greg, the best friend he’d ever had, who defied that type entirely. Greg had always been open with John, about how he felt and what he wanted. John knew he could relax completely with Greg, because there was never anything hidden. He didn’t have to analyse every move, both his own and others, trying to figure out what was the ‘right’ thing to do. 

Greg had seemed a little different, though, over the past few weeks. Not really upset, but quieter. He watched John when he thought John wasn’t looking, and John had no idea what it was about. He planned to ask Greg about it, but before he could get around to it, things came to a head.

*****

It had been a few weeks since their first dinner, and Irene had come over to complain about her clients to someone, as she put it, who ‘doesn’t get it because he doesn’t have a real job’. John had scoffed at that.

“I’m a doctor. You beat people for money.”

She’d laughed. “You run around after a freelance detective and do clinic work when you have nothing better to do. I run a business, providing a premium service.”

They’d engaged in a stare-off, which rapidly dissolved into laughter. Eventually their giggles subsided, and Irene attempted to speak again, but then another burst of laughter forced its way out of her mouth, resulting in a ridiculous sounding honking noise. John stared at her for several seconds and then started laughing again at the sheer unlikeliness on a sound like that coming out of Irene.

That felt like a sort of breakthrough in their friendship. John was delighted by the fact that Irene seemed to be comfortable enough to let go so much in his presence. It felt good, and in a way, helped him to reconcile a little more with his awful past. He made the both of them tea, once he’d recovered, and Irene began to regale him with her stories of Clients from Hell.

After a couple of hours John stretched out, lazily kicking at Irene’s ankle with the tip of his toe. “Greg’s gonna be here soon.”

Irene grinned. “Need some private time with your Detective Inspector, hmm?”

Irene found it hilarious that John was in a relationship with Greg, the man who’d come undercover to free them.She stood, going over to the mirror above the mantel to carefully arrange herself back into flawless perfection, redoing her hair and touching up her lipstick. Then she stepped over to John, giving him a hug. She pecked him on the cheek.

“Thank you, John. I’ll see you soon, bye!”

John stared after her in surprise. Irene wasn’t generally a tactile person, or at least she wasn’t with him, so that had been odd.

At the same time as she was leaving, Greg arrived at Baker Street. They passed him on the stairs and she smiled at him, pleasant on her end, but twisted in his tense and stressed mind into something mocking. 

“Have a lovely evening, Inspector.” She said as she passed.

Greg got up the stairs, finding John still standing in the living room. He noted his dazed expression, the lipstick on his cheek. John’s face was flushed from laughter, his hair tousled from when he’d run his hand through it in shared frustration with Irene. Greg drew his own conclusions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's sort of occurring to me that this fic has way more Greg POV than John POV. That's not deliberate, it's just that Greg comes a lot more easily to me. So I'm gonna try to do more John, even things out.


	52. If the Silence Takes You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John figures out what's going on. Greg figures out what's going on. Feelings are messy things.

More than a little stunned, Greg practically staggered over to the sofa, sitting down heavily. Distantly, he felt like he ought to be in a towering rage, but he couldn’t summon anything more than a numb sort of exhaustion. He gestured helplessly at the door.

“Why?”

John looked worriedly at Greg, feeling rather confused. “Are you talking about Irene? You know why. You said it was a good idea.” He sat down next to Greg, rubbing his back gently. “You look tired, let’s take it easy tonight. Do you want some tea?”

Greg scowled. “Stop it. I’m not a child, or an idiot.”

“No you’re not, you’re my boyfriend, and I’m looking after you.” John countered.

“You have lipstick on you.” Greg said shortly. If John wanted to play dumb, then he would just have to be direct.

John lifted his hand to the red mark Irene had left on him, his eyes widening in dawning realisation. “Greg...no. Just- whatever you’re thinking, it’s absolutely and one hundred per cent not that.” He frowned again as something else occurred to him. “Is that what’s been bothering you? Me and Irene? We really are just friends.”

Greg looked intently at John and then nodded slowly, relaxing fractionally. John wasn’t a liar, he knew that, and he especially didn’t lie to Greg. Caught up the heat of the moment, he hadn’t considered that. To assume that John could look him in the face and say he was only friends with Irene when they were more than that, would be to assume that one of the basic tenets of their relationship had been false from the beginning.

Greg slumped against John’s side, guilt filling him slowly like water seeping through cracks. “‘M sorry.” He mumbled. “I should’ve just talked to you.”

John slid an arm around Greg. “Yes, you should have.” He agreed. “Why didn’t you.”

Greg hid his face in John’s tricep. “I didn’t want to bother you.” He muttered. It sounded much more ridiculous out loud than it had in his head. Embarrassment joined the party that guilt was throwing in the pit of his stomach. 

“What bothers you bothers me. We’re in this together, remember?” John gave Greg a little squeeze. “If I have to talk about how I feel, so do you. You’re not allowed to make me do all the work here, got it?” John’s voice was stern, but not unkind. 

“Yeah. Got it.” Greg’s voice still felt rather hollow, too wrecked by exhaustion to summon anything more expressive. Greg felt himself developing a new appreciation for John, who had to do this on a semi-regular basis. 

John dropped a kiss onto the top of Greg’s head, it being the only place he could reach. “Right, what about that tea, eh?”

John got up, carefully depositing Greg on the sofa. Making tea was a meditative experience for him, and John took the time to collect himself a little. He could be upset later, but for now, Greg needed him. 

“You’re not angry?” Greg asked as John returned with two mugs.

“Oh, I am angry.” John disagreed. “I’m just saving it for when you’re not already miserable. He tugged Greg down by the shoulders, arranging Greg’s head carefully in his lap. 

Greg closed his eyes, drifting a little, John’s hand a comforting weight in his hair. They usually did this the other way round, but Greg decided this way was pretty good, too.

“I see why you like this. Although it does make it a little difficult to drink my tea.”

John’s low chuckle rumbled through him, loosening the knot in his stomach a little more. John would have more words for him later, Greg was sure, but for the moment, he allowed himself to fully relax around his boyfriend for the first time in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! happy ending, for now.


	53. Me and You and a Dog Named Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Greg rehash a couple of important things.

Greg’s respite lasted until after breakfast the following morning. They went back upstairs, and John turned to Greg once they were both back in bed.

“Okay, you know we’re going to have to talk about this now.” 

“Yeah.” Greg agreed softly, though he didn’t say anything else, unsure how to start.

“What made you think that I might be cheating on you with Irene?” John probed. 

Greg chewed thoughtfully on his lip. “It was just...an idea. It kind of...occurred to me, and then I couldn’t shake it, even when I knew it was a stupid idea.” He didn’t mention Marie. She wasn’t important, and they got on so well, he didn’t want to do anything to strain it.

John nodded slowly. “Is it something I did, or said? That made you doubt me?”

“Well, she texts you a lot.” Greg admitted. “I’d kind of gotten used to our ‘us time’ being for...us.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” John admitted. “I did kind of get caught up with her, it’s nice knowing there’s someone who really, truly understands, we don’t even talk about it, it’s just...nice. But not during our ‘us time’, you’re right. I’ll explain it to her, I think she’ll understand. But why didn’t you just tell me about it?”

“Like I said, I knew it was a stupid idea. I didn’t want to bother you with dumb stuff that’s all in my head anyway. I figured I’d be able to deal with it on my own.” 

“Just because it’s all in your head doesn’t mean it’s not a real problem.” John said firmly. “After all, by those standards, all I’ve done from day one is bother you with stupid ideas that are all in my head.”

“That’s different.” Greg disagreed. “You have an actual reason to have the problems you do, and-”

“And maybe you don’t know where your thoughts came from, but they came from somewhere, and are valid whether you know where or not.” John cut in. “I’m not angry about you worrying about me and Irene, not really. I do sort of feel like I haven’t been doing a good job being a proper boyfriend, but everyone has insecurities. I just want you to talk to me about stuff, just as much as I talk to you. Two-way, not one-way, alright?”

“Alright.” Greg said. He wished he had a Mind Palace like Sherlock’s, so he could display the words in the foyer, to remind himself. He didn’t want to disappoint John that way again. “And it’s not because you didn’t do a proper job of anything. You’ve been amazing, John.”

John looked visibly relieved. “Good. Now, we’ve been planning this lazy morning in all week, so I’d like to get to it, if you don’t mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, look how far John has come, I love him so much


	54. It's Christmastime in the City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Greg, the Lestrade girls, and even Sherlock get domestic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically me shamelessly indulging my desire for domestic fluff. Yes, I know it's twice the length of a normal chapter, but I couldn't find any appropriate stopping points. Also the return of Annie, Chris', and Rebecca! they disappeared for a while, but they're back and I love them more than ever.

It had been an eventful year, and Christmas crept up on John- he and Greg had been in the process of discussing moving Greg into 221B, officially. It was a big change, as there were the girls to think about- they’d rented 221C and were in the process of fixing it up, getting rid of mould and sealing it off from damp, and painting the walls whatever colours the girls decided on, after some heavy vetting. Annie had wanted foresty colours, yellow and green and brown. Chris’ wanted her bedroom to be bright red. “Like ManU!” She’d said. That idea had been shot down immediately. Becky had a riot at the paint shop, running around looking at all the colours and taking a cardboard paint chip of each of her favourites. She’d ended up with about twenty, many of which clashed horribly with each other. Eventually they settled on an autumnal theme, mostly a pale, buttery yellow, with some oranges and reds, and brown highlights.

Sherlock, surprisingly, was a big help in this area. Both John and Greg had been surprised by how well he got on with the girls, but they all adored him, Annie and Chris’ in particular. Chris’ perhaps was less of a surprised- he appreciated and indulged her endless curiosity, and never talked down to her. With Annie, he seemed to have some sort of artistic connection, which was something of a relief for Greg. As he said to John, “She loves music and art and stuff, I have no idea where she got it from. Marie’s more into science, I don’t know the difference between lavender and lilac, so it’s good that she has Sherlock now.”

The two of them had taken charge of the painting. Annie had come up with the theme, knowing it was something both her sisters would like- pastel enough for Rebecca, exciting enough for Chris’. Sherlock helped her with the more nuanced work, explaining how much of each colour to put and where. “Light colours open up a room, loud colours make it feel smaller.” He’d explained. “That’s why you need yellow as the base. The orange and red can be a feature wall, or you can put it high up, above eye level.”

Chris’, who had been half listening in, half tuning out out of boredom at this point, butted in. “We can have racing stripes! That would be cool.”

So they ended up with racing stripes, Munich style, just horizontal across the upper quarter of the wall- one thick red stripe, one thick orange stripe, bracketed by two thin brown stripes.

Sherlock and Annie had enthusiastic, highly technical conversations about music, too, which everyone else tended to tune out as being too complicated to bother understanding. This was how the subject of Christmas came up, incidentally. John was having his Saturday morning breakfast time with Annie, something they’d started when John realised that, Annie being the least chatty of all the girls, he knew her much less than he did her sisters. Annie had been relaying something musical and complicated that Sherlock had taught her, and then added, “He says I grasp musical concepts remarkably well, and that if I want to try it out practically he’ll buy me a piano for Christmas.”

John’s eyes widened. “A piano?” He exclaimed. He wondered what Greg would think of that. 

Annie nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, he actually said violin, at first, but he let me try with his and I didn’t really like it, there’s a lot of stuff like how to hold the bow and everything and I just wanted to get to the making music part. So he said he thinks I’m more suited to the piano.”

John got a few things out of that conversation, and he discussed them with Greg once the children were in bed (still in the Lestrade home, they had yet to furnish and move in properly). 

“Sherlock’s getting Annie a piano for Christmas.” was what he started with.

“Oh my God.” Greg muttered. “He’s nuts. Is he planning to teach her? I guess he might, he’s been good with her. But then what about when he loses interest? Or if she does? And pianos are kinda expensive, aren’t they? He’s going to drop over a thousand on my daughter and not even understand why I feel awkward about it. And she spends half her time at Marie’s, how’s she going to practice regularly when there are whole two-week stretches where she’s in a different house?”

“I’m gonna talk to him, try to convince him to go for a keyboard instead. So that’s cheaper, and portable.” John suggested.

“Oh, you’re brilliant.” Greg sighed, giving him a smacking kiss. “Yeah, do that.”

“And one more thing.” John added. “It’s Christmas.”

“Of course it is, it’s November, there are decorations and- Oh God, it’s Christmas. Who are the girls going to stay with, we need to get presents, and what about a party?”

John couldn’t help snickering at Greg’s little panic. “As for the first thing, and the party, I called Marie. We set up a tentative plan, I told her I’d run it past you.”

“Why are you so incredibly organised.” Greg sighed. “Okay, let me hear it.”

John chuckled. “I’ve had all day to think about it, that’s partly why. So the plan is, we’re doing the proper move in next week, so we should be all nicely settled by Christmas, right? We’ll do a party here, sort of Christmas cum housewarming about a week before actual Christmas. The whole shebang, Sherlock, Marie and Tom, Molly, Irene? If you don’t mind, and if she wants to, Sally, anyone else you want to invite. We can make it a potluck, that takes the pressure off a little, Annie says she wants to do a roast, so it’ll be all nice and Christmassy. Mrs Hudson even has a tree, and decorations and stuff. Then Christmas Day itself they’ll be at Marie’s. You go over in the morning, I’ll stay with Sherlock and Mrs Hudson and then come join you in the afternoon. Then at night I get to whisk you off for a romantic dinner.How’s that sound?”

Greg’s eyes were wide. “You thought of all that today?”

John shrugged. “Most of it was Marie. And Annie and Mrs Hudson walked in on me on the phone with her and insisted on helping, so I put her on loudspeaker and we had a little conference. I mostly just listened while they planned, so I’m the messenger, that’s all.”

“That sounds exhausting. It’s a good plan, though. I feel sleepy just thinking about it.”

John snorted, slinging an arm around Greg. ‘Sleep well, then. Ikea tomorrow.”

“Lord help me.” Greg muttered.


	55. Until the End of the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, Greg, Sherlock, and the girls go to Ikea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm so sorry about missing yesterday's update. My dad took me to see a movie and the theatre was packed, so we were right in front, so that left me strained and exhausted (although the Jungle Book was a really good movie!) and I just collapsed when I got home. I might do a double chapter some time during the week to make up though. I gotta warn you guys though, after next week this is gonna start happening more often. I'm going back to school, so that will take up a lot more of my time. At any rate, last chapter was insanely long compared to the average, and this one is hardly any better. So you're welcome, enjoy your fluffy shenanigans. I promise the actual plot has not been derailed, there is a point to all this, we're just...taking a fluff break.

Going to Ikea was originally supposed to be a relatively simple trip. Go in, find durable and colour-coordinated furniture, get it delivered, pack the girls to Marie’s. It was not to be. Some time in the week leading up to the trip, the girls, who had been eagerly awaiting the day, discovered that Sherlock had never been to Ikea. So of course they took it upon themselves to drag him along. Chris’ and Becky took on the task of pleading him to come, but what got Sherlock in the end was Annie, who didn’t even say anything, but who really wanted him to come, a fact that Sherlock easily deduced. So on Sunday morning they drove over to Baker Street and got Sherlock up before they all piled back into the car, plus one extra, Sherlock’s reluctance mostly fake but John and Greg’s trepidation entirely real.

The Ikea in Wembley was half an hour from Baker Street. It was also closed on Sundays, a fact that no one had realised until they were right outside the closed gates, staring up at the darkened building. 

“So now what do we do?” Greg sighed. 

“Ikea Tottenham.” Sherlock, who’d been leaning against the car scrolling through his phone said. “It’s half an hour from here. Open from eleven ‘til five on Sundays.”

Greg groaned. “Alright, back in the car, kids.”

*****

After that they encountered no major setbacks, although John and Greg ran themselves ragged trying to keep control of what felt like four kids. Here is a short list of things they managed to get up to in four hours-

-Sherlock found some magnet boards, which he immediately decided he absolutely needed to mount on the wall above the sofa, for crime solving purposes

-Rebecca found and fell in love with a four-poster bed with gauzy curtains which she intensely desired, because it was ‘princessy’. John pointed out that they weren’t shopping for beds, as they already had perfectly serviceable beds at home, which they would simply move over to Baker Street. Sherlock pointed out that a real princess would probably never sleep in a bed from Ikea, unless she was Swedish. 

-Annie found some birch wall-mounted cabinets that looked basically like unlabelled wine crates stuck to the wall by the base. Sherlock agreed that they did fit the theme. Greg fretted about one of the girls hitting her head on a corner. John managed to convince him that his children were more intelligent than that. The cabinets were added to the cart. 

-Annie proposed getting several throw pillows to put wherever, for comfort and aesthetic. Greg agreed this was a good idea, and allowed the girls to pick whatever cushions they might like. This resulted in the cart being filled with enough pillows to drown and elephant. Greg amended his previous statement, saying that they were now limited to a total of ten. Later he reflected that he should have said nine, which divided equally by three, but they got there in the end.

-One of the advantages of moving was that there was now space for a study/play room for the girls. The girls all wanted their own desk, but Greg made the executive decision to get one large table for all of them. There was an argument about how many the table should seat. The immediate, logical decision had been four. One for each of the girls and a space for anyone who might be hanging around to help with homework. However, Chris’ proposed a six person table, pointing out that it would seat all of them perfectly, as well as give them space to spread out their homework. Greg protested that there was just such a table upstairs. Anne pointed out that that was really Uncle Sherlock’s table, and it was always covered in experiments anyway, and wouldn’t it be nice if they could all sit together and have dinner with nothing in the way? John seconded that, and so a six person table was picked.

-Greg threatened that if they didn’t stop putting things in the cart without asking him first, he would count this entire trip as a Christmas present for all three of them and not get them anything else. No one believed him.

Several other things had to be decided, but the gist of it was that they ended up with mountains of stuff, some more necessary than others and it was a tired but happy family that pulled up at Marie’s doorstep to drop them off. John turned to Greg with a tired smile after they rounded the corner and the girls were no longer in sight. 

“That was pretty fun.” he murmured. “I feel like we’re becoming a proper family. Even this great git.”

He nodded his head at Sherlock, passed out in the back on top of ten assorted throw pillows, four magnetic boards clutched to his chest.

“Yeah well, that’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” Greg said. “Moving in, doing all this. Hitching my horse to your wagon. Or the other way around, I don’t know. You could’ve just moved in with us, but you’re right, Sherlock too, he’s like your family now and I can’t ask you to leave him any more than you’d ask me to leave the kids with Marie and just move in with you. That’s why it has to be this way. All of us, not quite one family and not quite two, in this tiny, insane ship together.”

John grinned tiredly. “Not a bad ship to be on.”

Greg nodded, glancing fondly at John, then through the rear view mirror at Sherlock. “No, not bad at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tried a new style with that list there. Was it too jarring? Is it too late in the fic to still be experimenting with this kind of stuff? I just went with what felt right, but I want to know what you think.


	56. I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is coming. There's a lot to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's kind of a weird feeling, writing about Christmas in April. I want it to be Christmas now.

The delivery of their furniture arrived a week later, on Monday. The girls were still with Marie, but she allowed Greg to take them for the day, as long as they got home an hour before Rebecca’s bedtime. So once all three were let out from school they all piled into 221C to peer at the instructions and figure out how to fit stuff together. Greg wasn’t actually around, being unavoidably occupied by a case. Sherlock was on the case too, and was messing about in Bart’s, doing stuff he didn’t really need John for. So that left John alone with the three girls and several flat-pack boxes of Ikea furniture. They divided the work fairly between them. Annie read the instructions, and told Uncle John what to do. Chris’ ran about passing Uncle John whatever he needed. Rebecca’s job was basically to watch, cheer them on, and avoid the temptation to play with the fiddly metal bits and subsequently lose them. It took them the better part of the afternoon, but they managed to get everything fixed up and in position. 

The Saturday after that was the proper move, getting the many, many boxes of stuff as well as all the furniture from Greg’s flat into Baker Street. Greg rented a van, and between him and John, they got everything shifted over. They just left the stuff in the correct rooms for the girls to arrange themselves on Monday. Of course, this meant that the girls spent their first night in Baker Street camped out on the floor of John and Greg’s room, but they didn’t seem to mind. School still wasn’t out, but they got enough done Monday afternoon and evening that they got to sleep in their own beds in Baker Street for the first time. By Tuesday evening they were completely unpacked, a feat made possible only due to Annie’s ruthless efficiency. They went out for a celebratory dinner, and afterwards once the girls were in bed John and Greg had a different sort of celebration of their own.

“It’s official, then.” John murmured as they were dropping off.

“What’s official?” Greg asked, too tired to even attempt to figure out John’s meaning.

“You’ve officially ruined the bachelor lifestyle I had going. Now I have a...a household.”

Greg grinned sleepily. “You like it, though.” 

“I do.” John agreed.

*****

With all that out of the way, there came a looming awareness of how close to Christmas it was, and how completely unprepared they all were. December had begun, the coldest in officially recorded history. Heavy snows kept the girls home from school, leaving Greg the only one who had to leave the house in the morning, grumbling about lazy freelance doctors who didn’t know how good they had it. John packed him off cheerfully with a kiss, a thermal bag of lunch (made by Annie, obviously), and a promise to have hot chocolate on the stove when he got home. However it seemed it was too cold even for murderers to bother getting anything done, and so by the second week of December even Greg had given up on going in to work, instead taking leave, of which he had accumulated plenty.

They’d put up the tree and other decorations by then, but there was still the question of presents. With the party date set for the eighteenth, on the fourteenth John and Greg enlisted the help of Sherlock and Mrs Hudson to keep the girls entertained while they snuck out to get that done. 

There had been some debate as to how exactly to arrange the giving of presents. Greg insisted that, them being a couple, it was perfectly allowed for them to give joint presents. John maintained that this was a lazy and cop-out way of doing things.

“We’re not the same person.” He’d argued. “My relationship with your children is different from your relationship with your children. Same with Sherlock, or Mrs Hudson, or Marie, or really anyone we actually know. Meaning everyone who’ll be at the party.”

“Alright, you win.” Greg sighed. “But you have to help me figure out what to get for Sherlock, I have no idea how to shop for the man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was mostly to wrap up some stuff. We'll be getting back on track with the plot next chapter, sort of. There's a lot to set up to do, to get everyone into position for the final act. Did that make it sound like this fic is ending soon? It's not. I really mean, a lot of set up.


	57. When I'm Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your friends dying only ruins a good party if you allow them to.

An hour in, the Christmas-slash-housewarming party was shaping up to be a roaring success. Nearly everyone was in attendance, and the party spilled out of 221C’s front room, taking up residence in the hallway and Mrs Hudson’s kitchen. Annie and Chris’ darted about with trays of various snacks, refilling the table as it emptied. Between making sure all the adults had wine, John glanced periodically at the door, wondering where Irene was. The doorbell rang, and John darted out to get it, expecting Irene. Instead there was a different young woman, one he did not recognise. 

“John Watson?” She asked. He nodded, still rather confused. 

“Miss Adler sends her apologies.” She said with a sweet smile, and pressed a small box into her hand. Then she vanished into the crowd. 

John closed the door and leaned against the wall, opening up the box. There was a note inside, and an item. He looked at the note first.

_’John. If you are reading this, then I’m dead. I’m not really, though, so don’t worry. I just need to go underground for a bit, so I’ll be out of contact. Obviously, you shouldn’t tell too many people, it’s a secret. Certainly do not let it get back to Mycroft Holmes. Burn this note. I left you a present- I won’t be needing it any more. It’s more for your friend, really. I expect he’ll enjoy the puzzle. Irene.’_

He looked into the box. There was the phone, the one they’d gone to so much trouble only to fail to retrieve. Going upstairs, he tossed the note in the fire before coming back down. He went over to Greg. On his way he slipped the phone into Sherlock’s hand. He knew he’d understand.

“Irene’s gone.” He murmured into Greg’s ear. It was a shame, really. They hadn’t had much chance to interact, what with everything that had been going on. John thought Greg would have liked her.

“What do you mean she’s gone, I never saw her arrive, did she- oh.” Greg said, with dawning realisation. He took John’s elbow. “Are you all right? You should sit down.”  
“She’s fine.” John amended quickly, in a low whisper. “She’s also dead, though. But not really.”

Greg’s brow furrowed. “She’s either dead or she isn’t. And you can’t be fine _and_ dead, that’s a contradiction in terms. So she’s...not dead?”

John nodded. “Precisely. But officially, she is. Thought you’d want to know.”

Greg sighed. “You know, I should be used to this sort of nonsense, but it’s usually Sherlock’s fault. You’re supposed to be the sane one.”

John snorted. “You really ought to know better. Sherlock’s saner than he pretends. Actually, don’t you ever think maybe Sherlock’s the sane one, and we’re all insane?”

“He tried to buy a piano for Annie.” Greg said flatly.

“Okay, so he’s a little nuts.” John sighed. 

“Anyway, Irene.” Greg steered the conversation back to the point. “You won’t be able to see her again. You okay with that?”

John shrugged. “Not much choice there, is there?”

“Yeah, I know, but really, are you okay?” Greg asked worriedly. “If you want to go upstairs for a bit, I can hold down the fort here.”

John rolled his eyes. “No you can’t. Sherlock’s went upstairs a few minutes ago, Annie’s going to hit her social interaction limit in the next ten minutes and go join Sherlock, at which point Chris’ will stop doing helpful things and start something ridiculous which she will drag Rebecca into as well. Mrs Hudson is sloshed and Marie is getting there, Tom is busy looking after her, leaving you with Sally and Molly. Who are talking to each other. What do you think they’re talking about?”

“Hopefully not Sherlock.” Greg sighed. “That would end very badly. Why did we have this party, again?”

John grinned cheerfully. “It’s going great. Everyone loves it.”

Looking around, Greg had to admit this was true. Mrs Hudson and Marie were having a very giggly chat, overseen by Tom, who was mostly ignoring them in favour of telling some sort of story to Rebecca, who was seated in his lap. Chris’ was now talking the ears off Molly and Sally, who were both quite happy to indulge her. Upstairs, he could hear the plonking of Annie on her new keyboard.

“What did Sherlock get Chris’ and Rebecca?” He asked John.

“You know, I have no idea. They haven’t opened them yet, Annie only gets hers because she knew what it was anyway.”

“It’s probably nothing inappropriate. He’s been pretty good with them.” Greg said hopefully.

John chuckled darkly. “It’s Sherlock. You never know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think Sherlock got them? (It's not an important plot point. I'm just curious.)


	58. Hey Santa Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is a questionable Santa, but he's actually fairly good.

When finally everyone had left the party, John, Greg, and Chris’ trudged up the stairs, a passed out Rebecca in John’s arms. Annie looked up from where she was seated on the floor in front of her new keyboard. 

“Hey Daddy listen to this!” Annie looked down, a look of concentration on her face, and picked out ‘Ode to Joy’ with one hand.

Greg smiled at her. “Have you been working on that all evening? It’s very good.”

Sherlock, seated next to her and leaning against his chair, scoffed. “Of course not. We’ve been playing a game. Watch.”

He held his violin in his hands, and he strummed out a simple chord. Annie listened carefully, eyes closed, and then picked out the chord, note by note, then played all the notes together. Sherlock beamed.

“She’s got a good ear.” He said proudly. Annie looked up at Sherlock sharply, surprised and delighted at being so openly complimented. 

Greg sat down next to Annie, wrapping one arm around her and kissing her on the cheek. “That’s my girl.”

“I don’t know, your singing in the shower is nearly tone deaf.” Sherlock muttered. 

Chris’ climbed into Sherlock’s lap, too sleepy to mind that she had decided a few months ago on her birthday that eleven was too big for cuddles. Sherlock set down his violin carefully, looking down at her in pleased surprise. 

“What’d you get for me, Uncle Sherlock?” She yawned.

Sherlock reached behind him, pulling out a long roll from behind him. He passed it to Chris’, who sat up, looking much more alert. She tore open the wrapping, unrolling it to find a large poster, depicting a hand-drawn diagram of a human heart, the inside and the outside in what looked to be vintage style. Greg, noticing the signature, leaned forwards.

“Sherlock, did you draw that yourself?”  
Sherlock nodded. “Not in that size, of course. I just sent the drawing over to someone who could blow it up and print it nicely.” He looked down at Chris’. “And there’s one more thing. You can compare it to the real thing, if you like.”

Chris’, who had been staring at her poster in wonder, looked up sharply. “You got me a real heart?”

Sherlock tilted his head towards the kitchen. “It’s in the fridge. We can do a dissection tomorrow.”

Chris’ leapt up, going to the fridge to check. Greg shot a glance at John, who shrugged helplessly. Sherlock caught their looks.

“It’s not anyone with a transmissible disease.” He protested. “Or anyone we know. We’ve done dissections together before, she knows the safety procedure.”

John sighed heavily. Greg glanced over at Chris’ who was holding the bloody tupperware up to the light, trying to see inside. “If she gets HIV I’ll kill you.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “It’s perfectly safe. I tested it for everything myself.”

In all the commotion Rebecca awoke, rubbing her eyes. “Presents?” She asked, sizing up the situation quickly. 

Sherlock smiled warmly at her. “Indeed. One second.” He hauled himself to his feet, stumbling a little as blood rushed back into his legs after hours on the floor. He disappeared into his, returning with a hefty parcel. He passed it over to the young girl, who was now properly awake and dancing in place in excitement. She ripped open the paper, and a great deal of colourful fabric spilled out. She held up the items one by one, exclaiming what they were once she figured out they were.

“A witch! Dragon! Harry Potter robes!” She leapt into Sherlock’s arms, squealing. “Thank you!”

John tried to picture Sherlock walking into a costume shop, picking out exactly what would interest Rebecca the most. It was a difficult thing to imagine. Sherlock caught John’s look, and he set Rebecca down, rolling his eyes as he sat down next to John. 

“I actually had no idea what to get her.” he muttered. “So I just gave Annie my card and told her to go to town.”

John elbowed Sherlock in the side. “Lazy bugger. She really took that seriously, huh?” He looked at Rebecca, who had pulled on the robes and was modelling for her sisters and father. ‘There’s a wand too, see?’ Annie was saying.

Sherlock chuckled. “Actually she came back with a princess dress from Isetan, but it was made of awful polyester so we scrapped that and ordered all this stuff online.”

“Thank you, Sherlock.” John said earnestly. 

Sherlock looked at him. “What, this? It was easy, Anne did most of it.”

John shook his head. “No. Well yes, this too, but I meant all of it. You’re so good with them, and I know it probably wasn’t in your life plan, living with a gay couple and three kids, but you’ve been so accomodating, you went above and beyond, really. So thank you.”

Sherlock looked away awkwardly. “They’re not bad.” He muttered. “Less tedious than most adults.”

John beamed. “You love them.”

“Shut up.” Sherlock scowled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr has been putting a lot of Sherlock feels on my dash, I just wanted to do him a happy


	59. Just Us Two (Or Three)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A romantic getaway for three.

So Christmas passed pleasantly, and so did the new year, and less than a week after that came Sherlock’s birthday, by which point everyone was so partied out that they were quite happy to get back to school and work and the regular grind of life. The rest of winter passed quite uneventfully, and in March several things lined up quite nicely. The first thing was Greg discovering he had a whole load of leave that he had to use up before April. The second thing was Sherlock getting a case out in the country. The third thing was the girls conveniently being at Marie’s in that period, and the fourth and final thing was John and Greg’s one year anniversary.

Oddly enough, it was Greg who’d had the idea, and John who expressed incredulity. “You’re going to take leave from your job doing detective work,” he said slowly, “to go do more detective work. For our anniversary.”

“Yeah.” Greg nodded. “I was already thinking we could go somewhere, a bit of a getaway. This is perfect! Much more fun than a beach somewhere. You love doing this stuff, and now I’ll be there. So it’ll be twice as fun.”

John sighed. “Greg, the point of a romantic getaway to a beach somewhere is so that you can stay in and have a lot of sex, and not really actually look at the beach all that much, because sand is frankly awful and no one actually likes it. Sherlock will be dragging us all over the place, it will be very unrelaxing.”

“You don’t want to stay in and have a lot of sex.” Greg pointed out. “And you don’t really like relaxing, either.”

This was true. For one thing, they were both too old for sex marathons, and even if they weren’t, doing nothing but have sex would make John feel weird, remind him of when it was pretty much his job to do nothing but have sex. In general, John didn’t like being idle. He preferred to make himself useful, fill up his time with productive things. He sighed. 

“Fine, you win. Romantic getaway for three it is. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

In the end it wasn’t too bad. Yes, the B&B was so full they had to share a twin room with Sherlock. Yes, they did nearly get caught infiltrating a military base, yes, they were all drugged with hallucinogens, and yes, they did see a man blown up in front of them, but he was a pretty awful man, and after all of that they sent Sherlock home, a double room finally opened up, and they spent a pleasant week wandering the countryside, seeing the sights, and having an ordinary but fulfilling amount of sex.

They packed up and went home just as John started itching with boredom, and just as the house was once more flooded with children. From there, they had less than a week’s reprieve, and then everything started going downhill, very fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the stuff begins happening! I'm so excited.


	60. I Can't Help it if I make a Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty returns.

The first sign that something was wrong was a message left on John’s blog. Not just a comment, but a post, as though John himself had made it, but John had not. It was Moriarty, dropping in to tell them that he’d be back. They had a tense week, but nothing happened, and they allowed themselves to relax.

Or rather, Greg allowed himself to relax. John pretended to, but did not. Sherlock did not relax, and he did not forget. He plotted and planned. When the time came, he would be ready. 

In the meantime, there was a huge pick up in cases, all high profile. Recovering a stolen painting. Finding a kidnap victim, and then capturing the kidnapper. Each time, Sherlock appeared in the papers. The girls all thought it cool to have a ‘famous’ uncle, then in the manner of children, got over it. Sherlock was just Uncle Sherlock, after all. Sometimes he still forgot he had girls living with him and had to put pants on before coming into the kitchen in the mornings. Sally found it hilarious. She was the one who’d had the idea of gifting him a deerstalker in public. He’d had to put it on. He’d turned to scowl at her, but she only smiled and wiggled her fingers at him. Infuriating. She’d been more fun when she’d hated him. 

Then Moriarty was back, playing the theatrical villain, and getting away with it scot-free. Then Kitty Riley, scorned journalist, published an exposé revealing Sherlock to be a fraud. Then Sherlock found the children of an ambassador, who then screamed when they saw him.

Sally went to see Greg in his office. She tossed a newspaper onto his desk. ‘Sherlock: The shocking truth” read the headline. 

“The article. The kids. The evidence is piling up.” She said flatly.  
Greg looked down at the paper, then incredulously back up at Sally. “Sally, you know this wasn’t him. You know how he works, you know him. You’ve seen him with my kids. He didn’t do this.”

Sally sat down in the chair across from Greg. “I know. I know he didn’t, and that is exactly why we both know this has to be done. We can’t sweep this under the rug, and furthermore, there’s no need to. There’s nothing to cover up, and we can prove that.” 

Greg nodded slowly. “And it has to be you.” She added. “Because everyone knows about your relationship with John, they know you’re close with Sherlock. If you remain silent, you’ll implicate yourself, and it’ll be that much harder to get him exonerated.”

Greg sighed. He didn’t like it, but Sally was right. “Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. We all know what's coming now.


	61. Are You With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock get arrested, although not for long.

Sherlock jumped down from where he was clinging on to the shelving as Greg walked into the room.

“Lestrade, excellent! We were just-” He trailed off as he noted the look on Greg’s face. “Oh, of course.” He said softly. 

Greg looked miserable. “I’m sorry.” He said.

Sherlock nodded briskly. “I’m surprised they let you come, actually.” He turned to John. “John, are you with me?”

John, who had been staring between the two in confusion, snapped to attention. “Yes, of course. But what-”

He broke off as Sherlock held out his hands, and Greg snapped a pair of cuffs around his wrists. 

“Greg? What are you doing, what’s going on?” 

Sherlock glanced back at him. “Don’t make this harder for Greg, John, he’s being watched.” He said softly. He looked meaningfully at John. “With me.” He repeated.

“I’m just glad the girls aren’t here to see this.” Greg muttered. “They’d never forgive me.”

The Chief Superintendent wandered in, looking first at Sherlock, then the cuffs, then at Greg.

“Well done, Lestrade.” He said, sounding condescendingly proud. “We’ve all been very accepting of your…” He waved a hand at John. “deviances, but we were getting worried, and I’m very happy that you can set all that aside when push comes to shove.” 

Greg gritted his teeth, and taking Sherlock by the elbow, led him downstairs to the waiting police car. Watching them go, Sherlock’s voice echoed in John’s head. _’With me.’_

Understanding suddenly what he was supposed to do, he took great pleasure in stepping forwards and getting himself arrested by breaking the Chief Superintendent’s nose.

*****

John was slammed against the side of the police car mere seconds after Sherlock, and significantly harder. Sherlock glanced at him, and then at the Superintendent, who was coming out of their Baker Street flat, cradling his broken nose.

“Well done.” He murmured, low so that the police officers behind them would not hear.

“Oh, it was my pleasure.” John muttered. “And there’s a lot more I’d like to do to him, next time I get my hands on that fucking idiot.”

Behind them, a police officer uncuffed one of Sherlock’s wrists, and attached it to one of John’s, cuffing them together. Sherlock glanced down, then back up at John, and smiled. He took John’s hand. 

“With me?”

John gave a tiny nod. “Of course.”

With his free hand, Sherlock reached through the open window of the car, and grabbed the gun of the officer sitting in the driver’s seat. He swung it around, pointing it at the crowd of policemen as he and John walked slowly backwards. Once they were a safe distance away, they turned and began sprinting, and with that they were officially on the run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited aah


	62. You're Not Gonna Stop What We've Made Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rooftop confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice the rating went down. I decided that my single half a sex scene doesn't really warrant an Explicit rating. There aren't going to be more. Sorry.

Dawn had broken over London when Sherlock strode onto the rooftop at Bart’s, alone now, having picked the handcuffs some hours ago. John was on his way back to Baker Street to look after Mrs Hudson. Moriarty was on the roof too, waiting for him.

Moriarty began his monologue, and Sherlock waited impatiently for the man to be done. He couldn’t help bantering back, a little, but mostly he was too angry. Moriarty had gone too far. The game stopped being fun the second it began genuinely affecting John, Greg, the people he cared about. Slowly, Moriarty showed him how he’d laid his trap. The code he’d made Sherlock he’d think he had, the one that supposedly could open banks, prisons, the Tower of London. Fake.

“Partita Number One. Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach.” Moriarty smirked.

Sherlock knew this. He’d taught the piece to Annie only a few weeks ago. Moriarty didn’t need to know that, though. “But then how…” He murmured.

Jim spread his hands. “Daylight robbery.” He declared. “All it takes is some willing participants.” He turned to look out at the view of London. “I knew you’d fall for it.” He said smugly. “That’s your weakness, you always want everything to be clever. Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building. Nice way to do it.”

As tempted as he was to wipe that smirk off Moriarty’s face, Sherlock kept up his clueless act. “Do it...do what?” He blinked slowly, looking as though he’d come to a sudden conclusion. “Oh, of course. My suicide.”

Together, they walked towards the edge, looking down to the pavement below. There was a little more pointless back and forth. 

“And how are you planning to convince me?” Sherlock asked, trying to move things along.

“Your friends will die if you don’t.” Jim smiled, insanity lighting up his eyes.

Sherlock’s eyes widened. This was a possibility he hadn’t accounted for, though in hindsight, of course he should have. Moriarty had done it before, taking John as the fifth pip. 

“John.” He murmured.

“Not just John. Everyone.” Jim prompted.

“Greg. Mrs Hudson.” 

Jim smiled suddenly. “Who else.”

Sherlock’s voice held a note of panic now. “Anne. Christine. Rebecca.”

Moriarty thrust his hands in his pockets. “I admit, I thought about it. But then I had a better idea. Dear old mummy. Not yours, theirs. Little Annie the orphan. Isn’t that funny? I thought it was funny. Who’ll take those sweet little darlings in, with mummy and daddy gone? Kids like these, they tend to...slip through the cracks, you know what I mean? Who knows what could happen to them. Perhaps something similar to what happened to Johnny boy, all those years ago. Wouldn’t that be interesting? Poetic, hmm?”

Sherlock felt sick. He couldn’t move, couldn’t respond, lost in the horrific of thought of the possibility coming to fruition. Moriarty laughed triumphantly.

“You could have me arrested, torture me, do anything you like, but the plan is in motion. Nothing you can do. Unless…”

“Unless I jump.” Sherlock finished. “Kill myself. And die in disgrace.”

“You gotta admit that’s sexier.” Moriarty leered hideously at Sherlock. “Your death is the only thing that’s going to call of the killers.” he taunted. “I’m certainly not going to do it.”

Sherlock looked sharply at him. “So you can do it. You’re _‘not going to do it’_. Implying that you can. _Got you._

Jim laughed in his face. “You think you can make me? You think you can break me?”

“Yes.” Sherlock said flatly. He looked at Moriarty, his eyes burning with his anger and most importantly love, love for his friends, the people he’d surrounded himself with and made into his family, and there was nothing he would not do for them. 

Moriarty looked into his eyes and saw all that, saw that the very thing he’d used against Sherlock now turned on him, realised his mistake in giving Sherlock a reason to fight. He stepped back.

“I see.” He said softly. “As long as I’m alive, you’ve got a way out.” He smiled slightly. “Well, good luck with that.” 

He reached into his waistband, pulling out a gun. Before Sherlock could react, he shoved the muzzle into his mouth, and fired.


	63. I'm Sorry, But I Have to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A phone call

The second John saw Mrs Hudson, perfectly fine, he realised that something was terribly wrong. Getting back into the cab, he told the driver to go back to Bart’s. 

“Quickly.” He urged.

As the taxi pulled up at the hospital, John’s phone began to ring. The caller ID told him it was Sherlock. He picked up.

“Hey, Sherlock, you okay?” He asked as he walked across the carpark.

“Turn around, and walk back the way you came now.” Sherlock said. 

“What? No, I’m coming in, where are you?”

“Just do as I ask. Please.” Sherlock’s voice held a note of desperation that stopped John in his tracks. He turned, walking back. “Stop there.” Sherlock said after a moment. “Okay, look up, I’m on the rooftop.”

John looked up, finally seeing Sherlock’s familiar figure standing close to the edge. Panic filled him. “Oh, God.” He breathed.

“I- I can’t come down, so we’ll- we’ll just have to do it like this.” Sherlock said shakily. 

“What’s going on?” John asked anxiously, hoping this wasn’t what he thought.

“An apology.” Sherlock said softly. “It’s all true, everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty. I’m a fake.”

“Why are you saying this, Sherlock?” John asked, growing increasingly alarmed.

“I’m so sorry.” Sherlock whispered hoarsely. “For lying to you. For lying to everyone. You, Mrs Hudson, Greg.” His voice shook. “Annie. Christine. Rebecca. I never- I never meant to hurt them.”

“Sherlock, shut up, just shut up.” John said fiercely. “You’re not a fake, I know you’re not. I know you, Sherlock. And Greg’s known you for five years. And you really are fucking brilliant, so I don’t know why you’re being so colossally stupid right now, but know this. You never hurt us, quite the opposite, you bring so much joy to our lives, with your ridiculousness and your music, and your caring, all those things that could never be fake. So please Sherlock, _please_ , come down here. We’ll work this out, I know we can, I’ve been there before so I _know_. Just trust us, trust yourself. We’ll figure out this Moriarty stuff, and fix this, but first you have to let me help you, all right? Just like all those times you helped me. Please?”

Sherlock pressed a fist to his mouth, choking back sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Tell the girls- tell them I love them, and I’m so so sorry. Tell- Tell Annie I’m sorry for leaving her alone. And-”

John cut Sherlock off. “Stop this right now, Sherlock. You don’t have to do this, we can-”

“Goodbye, John.” Sherlock interrupted. He couldn’t hear any more, his resolve was slowly crumbling, and he knew he needed to finish this. Lowering the phone from his ear, he hung up and tossed it aside, looking down at the distant pavement. Taking a deep breath, he jumped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nearly cried. At my own fic, how pathetic am I


	64. I'll See You Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's funeral

Chris’ in black was a strange sight to see, starkly different from her usual bright clothing. Her sombre mood matched her dress, and with her pale skin and hair she looked smaller and more angular than ever. She appeared dwarfed by the podium she stood behind. She cleared her throat softly, and took in a deep breath. 

“Hello, everyone. Thank you all for coming today. For those who don’t know me, I’m Christine. Chris’ to my friends and family, and I am proud to say that Uncle Sherlock was one of those people. Nevertheless, I suppose many of you are surprised to see me here. There are many who have known him longer, and better deserve to be up here. What happened was, Mr. Mycroft, who you’ve just heard from, asked Uncle John to do this speech, but Uncle John said he would cry and not be able to say anything. So he asked my sister Annie, but she’s scared of speeches, so she asked me. Not to worry, though, all of these people helped me to write this speech, so in a way, they’re all speaking to you together, through me. 

That was something Uncle Sherlock was good at, incidentally. Bringing people together. He would disagree if he was here. He liked being grumpy like that. But he had so much love for all of us. Even when he was in the middle of being grumpy. We had a strategy for when that happened. We sent my Rebecca- she’s my little sister, she’s eight and really cute- to go give him a hug. She’s little so he can’t shout at her to go away. So he had to let her hug him. It didn’t always make everything okay, but I think he felt a little bit better afterwards. I hope so. I wish we had done that more. Maybe he would still be here.”

In the front row, she could see Uncle John shaking his head. He’d told her not to put that bit in, because it wasn’t true at all. There was nothing they could have done, he’d said. But Chris’ could tell he didn’t really believe that, so she’d left it in.

“I didn’t know Uncle Sherlock for all that long.” She continued. “Less than a year, in fact. But I lived with him half of that time, and so I saw parts of him that maybe some of you don’t know about. He could be really playful and funny when he was in a good mood. There was this game he liked to play. We would stand at the window, and he would tell us stories about the people who were walking around on the street. And then we had to guess if it was real or not. And sillier things too, like when me and Rebecca play make believe, he’d be the monster, he could make really good growly sounds-”

She tried to imitate the sound, incongruous as it was in her high, childlike voice. “And he would play music for us to dance, and he taught me how to dance like a lady, but when I said it was boring he taught me cooler stuff like jazz and hip hop. 

So you see, even though he tried to pretend to be unapproachable and mean he was actually a very fun person, and very nice, and it’s really sad that lots of people never tried to get to know him properly. If they did they’d never believe the bad things that people said about him. But all of you know that, or you wouldn’t be here. You saw at least a little of that man, the man he thought he had to pretend he wasn’t. I know I’m so lucky that he was that way with me much of the time. I have so many good memories of him, and yet they’re not enough, because I no longer have a chance to make more. But I’ll think of him often, because I miss him a lot.”

Chris’ was blinking hard, trying to make it to the end. “Uncle Sherlock, I don’t know where you are now, or if you can hear me. You’d probably say there’s no such thing as the afterlife, but I hope there is, because there’s lots I forgot to say when I could. Like thank you, for not telling Uncle John that I was the one who spilled the beaker of acid on the carpet when he was scolding you about it. And I’m sorry for shouting at you when you were too busy saving people to play with me. And- I love you. We all do. Becky and Annie and Daddy and Uncle John and Mrs Hudson and Mr. Mycroft. We love you and we’ll miss you a lot but we hope you’re feeling better now. Good-bye, Uncle Sherlock.” 

Chris’ jumped off the raised platform running into her father’s arms. He picked her up, hugging her close. “Thank you, darling, that was lovely.” He murmured. She just buried her face in his neck, tears soaking the collar of his suit.

Beside them, John was holding Rebecca, who was wearing the black Hogwart’s robes Sherlock had gifted her. It had been her own idea. Greg glanced at John, who was pale and still. He reached out and took John’s hand. John gripped it tight.

“Do you need a moment alone?” Greg asked softly. 

John blinked, taking several moments to respond. “No. No, that’s the last thing I need right now.” 

Greg nodded. “Okay. We’ll be right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock totally knows jazz.


	65. Now I Need You More Than Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grieving is a messy, circular thing.

John could sense Greg sitting down beside, him, joining him on the floor. He blinked, coming back to himself slowly.

“You’ve been staring at that notebook for the last ten minutes.”

John picked up the notebook Greg had mentioned. “It’s his stupid tobacco ash analysis.” He muttered. “Two hundred and forty-three types.” He passed it over to Greg. It was only years of having to decipher Sherlock’s written statements that allowed Greg to read it. John reached over, flipping to the back. “There are samples.” He added.

Sure enough, there were several pages of tobacco ash, sprinkled carefully on the paper, secured with scotch tape, and neatly labelled, a sharp contrast to the scribbled mess of the rest of the book.

“It’s the only copy of his notes there are left, probably.” John said conversationally. “He deleted the blog post.”

“So you think we should keep it?” 

“I actually have a very strong urge to burn the damn thing.” John said flatly.

“A fitting end, considering the subject matter.” Greg tried to joke. John’s expression did not change.

Greg sighed. “You’re angry with him.” He’d expected this would come. He was angry too, after all. He was actually surprised it had taken this long. 

“Of course I’m fucking angry.” John spat. “He didn’t have to do that. I told him he didn’t, I fucking begged him! But he didn’t listen, of course he didn’t, he never bloody listens. Listened. Fuck!”

Greg nodded, keeping quiet, letting John get it out.

“And he didn’t- he never said anything. All that time we were living together, working together, I saw him every bloody day and he never said a word about it.”

“Maybe it wasn’t? Things went bad really fast.” Greg suggested.

“People don’t just suddenly kill themselves, Greg!” John shouted. “Maybe that’s what triggered it, but there’s always something there. A thought that turns into a suggestion. It doesn’t happen overnight.” His hands were balled into fists. “I’ve been trying to figure it out.” He said, quieter now. “Thinking back to the last few weeks, months, trying to see where I might have missed anything. But there’s nothing. He’s too good at lying. He just- carried on. Experiments and cases and playing with the girls. He seemed happier, even. Maybe that was the sign? The thing I missed? They say when suicidal people appear to be in a better mood it might be a sign that they’ve decided to really do it. He could’ve been planning this the whole time, and I never noticed.”

Greg shook his head. “You can’t think like that. It won’t do anything but hurt you more.”

“But why didn’t he trust me?” John’s eyes were filling with tears, and Greg was actually relieved. John hadn’t allowed himself to cry about it yet. Greg suspected he’d been waiting for the girls to go off to Marie’s. 

“Surely he must have known that I would understand.” John continued. “That I wouldn’t think any less of him. Why did he think he had to hide it until it got so bad?”

Greg pulled John closer and John allowed it, going limp against Greg’s side. “It’s not your fault.” He said softly.

“Could be, though.” John said, stubborn as ever.

“No.” Greg said, more firm this time. “It isn’t, and you know it’s true. I’ve heard you say as much to Anne and Christine, and it applies to you to.”

“They’re just kids.” John muttered. “I’m supposed to be trained or this kind of thing.”

Greg’s arm tightened around John. He knew his knees would punish him for it later, but he tugged John into his lap, letting him curl up and stroking his back as John finally allowed the tears to fall. 

Eventually John looked up, drying his eyes. “Don’t burn the book.” He sighed. “We’ll need it to show the grandkids, tell them about him. A cautionary tale about making friends with nutters.”

Greg didn’t kid himself into thinking John was no longer angry. It would come back, it would keep coming back, though less and less. There were other things, too. Greg had his own grief, similar yet different. Annie had not spoken since she heard the news. They were all ripped and ragged at the edges from having a part of them torn away, sudden and violent. They would heal though, slowly. They would always be a little scarred, possibly a lot scarred, but they would make it through, and one day they would be able to have the memories without the pain. In the meantime, they had each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so...that's actually the end. I've got one more chapter planned, bit of an epilogue, but this is it, guys. The end of a journey. Thank you all for reading and commenting.


	66. One Year Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the anniversary of Sherlock's death.

The group sitting in a circle beside a headstone in the cemetery would have drawn some odd glances, had anyone seen them, but the day’s weather had been irritatingly unpredictable, alternating frequently between bright sunshine and showers of rain, and so there was no one around to see. This particular family nevertheless remained steadfast in their little vigil, having come prepared with umbrellas, a picnic blanket to lay on the damp ground, and a picnic. It was sunny at the moment, and one of the children, the eldest girl, was playing a mournful song on a violin.

“Annie’s started playing your violin, she’s gotten quite good.” John spoke for her as the piece ended. Anne had started talking again several months ago, but it had been a slow process and she still tended not to say very much. 

Her playing the violin had begun because she’d wanted to keep the instrument in good condition. At first that had just meant tuning and cleaning it, but somewhere along the line she’d decided to learn to play.

“You’ve missed a lot in the last year.” John continued. “Chris’ has been shooting up, hich still means she’s only average in her class, but who knows, if she keeps this up she might end up a beanpole like you.”

“I’m going to be taller than you!” Chris’ interrupted. 

“I’m afraid genetics is not on your side, darling.” Greg told Chris’. “Uncle Sherlock was pretty tall, taller than your mother and me.”

Chris’ rolled her eyes. Greg still wasn’t sure whether she’d picked that habit up from Sherlock, or from school, but he was inclined to believe it was Sherlock. It made it just slightly less annoying. “I was talking to Papa.”

“Well, that’s a lot more manageable.” Greg laughed.

John couldn’t not smile, in spite of the crack about his height. “And they’ve started calling me that. I have no idea what they call Tom, though.”

“We call him Daddy too.” Chris’ told him. “Cos’ Daddy’s not really around at the same time as Daddy.”

John laughed. “Well, this Christmas is going to be interestingly confusing. Maybe we should number you. Daddy One and Daddy Two.”

Greg faked a fierce look. “I’d better be Daddy One. I came first, remember?”

The three children nodded in unison.

“And so when Rebecca had to share about her family she took the longest of anyone in the class, didn’t you, Rebecca?” Greg prompted.

Rebecca shook her head. “Second longest.” She corrected. “Joseph Stubbins has two mums, a dad, a brother, two half sisters, and four cats.”

“And what did your friends think about you having so many parents?” John asked.

Rebecca shrugged. “Sherlyn said it must be no fun because it’s twice the scolding. But that’s ‘cause her parents scold her a lot. An’ Julia said I need two more mums, otherwise it’s not even.”

Greg laughed. “And where does she think you’ll get these extra mums? The supermarket?”

John laughed a little, but Rebecca looked quite serious. “Maybe Mrs Hudson can be one?” She suggested.

Chris’ rolled her eyes. “Mrs Hudson can’t be Mummy, she’s Mrs Hudson. Anyway, we can call Uncle John Papa now because Daddy and Papa are getting married!”

“You could’ve let us tell the news ourselves.” John chided gently.

“You were being slow.” Chris’ muttered.

John rolled his eyes. Greg leaned close to him. “You just rolled your eyes again.”

John let out a groan, resting his forehead against Greg’s shoulder. “Your children are terrible influences.”

Greg just grinned. “They’re your children too now.”

John lifted his head, looking up at the grey sky. “Lord help me.” He muttered. He turned back to the headstone. “But yeah, I put a ring on it. And Greg said yes, obviously.”

“Obviously? Bit full of yourself, aren’t you?” Greg interrupted.

John waved him off. “Obviously,” he repeated, “and now I almost regret asking because this wedding business is a nightmare. There’s a billion and one things to decide, flowers and suits and...tablecloths, all that whatnot. Really wish you were here right now, Sherlock. You could’ve composed a song. Annie’s doing it, but you could have helped her, collaborated on something. And you’d be great with this stuff, Marie’s been helping out loads but she’ll come over to ask stuff like, so we’ve got a silvery grey theme going, which means we could match the flowers to that and go with pale or cream, or would we prefer to have something contrastingly bright? And I haven’t got a clue, and neither does Greg.”

“Actually I think dark blue and purple would look nice.” Greg said.

John turned to look sharply at him. “That’s not what you said yesterday.”

“I didn’t have time to think. I just searched winter flowers for weddings, John, it wasn’t hard.” Greg said impatiently.

John pictured the combination. “Okay, that would look nice.” He admitted. “I’ll run it by Marie.”

“Already done. She says that sounds good and she’ll send us a list of possible flowers.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

The afternoon passed in a similar vein, the five of them just sitting together, chatting to each other and to Sherlock, who obviously did not respond. Eventually, once the picnic was gone and it was beginning to get dark, they packed up. Annie lingered behind, waiting until her family was out of earshot.

“Bye, Uncle Sherlock.” She said softly. “I miss you. Come home soon.” Then she turned, and ran to catch up with the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it folks! Yes, I'm stopping here. I might come back to this and add sequels, little vignettes here and there, but the story proper ends here. Thank you all again for coming on this journey with me. Ciao!


End file.
